Liberty
by coffeecupcakegirl
Summary: Elizabeth is still very young, but already very confined, when her life takes a sudden turn. On the day of her first ever marriage proposal, she also meets her first ever pirate a trade she's been interested in ever since encountering young Will.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

It is a frequently repeated cliché that all men are terrified of women in one way or another, but in case of seafaring men it might be true. The vast majority of them was superstitious and shuddered with the mere idea of having a female aboard, and the First Lieutenant of the HMS Dauntless, an educated aristocrat himself, could but shake his head about his sailors. Perhaps it was because they saw so little of women due to their profession that they were so scared, he couldn't say, but it was absolutely unintelligible to him how they could shrink away from little girls even.

"_Bad_ luck to have a woman aboard, Sir," Joshamee Gibbs, one of the senior midshipmen, kept on repeating whenever he came across her. "_Bad _luck if you'll ask me."

"I don't, fortunately. Now leave her alone, you scare _her_ much more than vice versa, I'm sure!"

Said little girl – Elizabeth – was the ten year old daughter of Governor Swann, who had been assigned to resume a position in some godforsaken hamlet some hundred miles south-eastern of Nassau Port. With him, a small fleet was supposed to establish another outpost of the British Empire, a venture that the Lieutenant dared questioning in more private moments. 'Why make the effort,' he'd think to himself, 'and civilise some village whose inhabitants had most likely never heard the present king's name?'

But these decisions weren't up to him, and he had enough on his plate with the tasks ahead of him at any rate. He had two jobs to see after instead of one – the one his was paid for. The other one he didn't feel fit for, he _wasn't_ fit for – two years ago, he had still been a common officer, one among many, five years ago, he had just graduated from Mariner's College in Portsmouth and never seen more of the world than London and that rural part of Kent where his family was still living. But one grew with one's tasks, as his old governess Miss McKendell would have pointed out in that sour tone of hers. – He smiled to himself, like always when thinking of old Miss McKendell, an old spinster if there ever was one. Whenever he was struggling, whenever he was certain he would fail, he heard her stern voice with that peculiar Scottish accent snapping at him to try harder, be better, and 'bloody hell do as you're expected, boy!'

The two children raced past him. Rather – little Elizabeth was running, one hand lifting her skirt, the other clenched around young William's wrist and dragging the poor boy along. "Good morning, Lieutenant," she cried brightly and proceeded. "Say good morning, Will!"

"Good morning, Sir," the meagre boy muttered meekly, attempting a courteous bow while Elizabeth pulled him to follow her.

"Good morning, Miss Swann – young master Turner," the Lieutenant replied, stifling a smile. The Governor's daughter faintly reminded him of his oldest brother's daughter Anne, who had been in the same age when he had last seen her. Well, by now, little Anne was a married woman, or that was the last he had heard of her. As a matter of fact, there was little resemblance between Anne and little Miss Swann, if he thought about it. His niece had been a perfectly behaved, but rather slow-witted child – and the Governor's daughter was clearly neither. Really, the similar age notwithstanding, they could hardly have been more different, probably. He couldn't say why he found this child so particularly endearing – maybe it was his lack of experience with children in general, and with little girls in particular. Sir Alfred had only fathered sons. The boarding school and the Mariner's College had conspicuously lacked females, too. And as an officer of His Majesty, one could pass years without coming across a single specimen of the fair sex, no matter what age.

"We are going to catch and tame an albatross," Elizabeth explained in passing.

"Good luck then. They're not easily caught."

"Oh, we'll manage! Won't we, Will?"

The boy's face belied his answer, "Yes…"

Indeed, Will wasn't half as convinced that his new friend's latest scheme would work out, but he didn't have it in him to disagree with anything she said. He regarded her to be his guardian angel – after that terrible incident, hers had been the first face he had spotted when regaining consciousness. For some minutes, he had thought he was dead and she was an angel, a real one – he had never seen anyone so pretty, so kindly smiling, so elegant – and ever since, she coddled over him, trying to keep him out of trouble, but more often being the origin of trouble herself, like now.

He was scared, deadly scared, of pretty much everything on board. After his mother had died and left him a very modest outcome, he had used this money and purchased a passage to Nassau Port in order to find his father. What else could he have done? The money hadn't sufficed, so he had hired as a dogsbody on a merchant vessel, where he had been treated with careless contempt at its best, but still he had been more easy-going than here, on the Dauntless. Governor Swann and his daughter were _very_ noble people, he hadn't got a clue how to behave around either of them. Then there was Mr Gibbs, who was kind of spooky, mildly put. And then, there was also Lieutenant Norrington…

Will's prevailing sentiments concerning the Lieutenant were closely related. First and foremost, he was awed. The Lieutenant was very young still – Will had overheard some of the sailors saying that he was only twenty-three – but he was already in charge of one of His Majesty's flagships, because Captain Craddock couldn't have handled the job for the life of his. Will had seen him only two or three times on deck – he was old, he was sickly, but most of all, he was perennially drunk – again, Will relied on the sailors' gossip – and the Captain appeared to have happily delegated the task to his First Lieutenant. Everybody aboard had the highest opinion of this one; everybody, even the officers who were more than twice as old as the man himself, praised his abilities as a sailor, as a swordsman, as an overall gentleman. Will could only confirm all these claims – Lieutenant Norrington struck him as the epitome of a noble man, but that was also the origin of his second sentiment, which was nothing short of intimidation.

Lieutenant Norrington was as superior as the Swanns, but he had no share of the Governor's avuncular benignity, or Elizabeth's lively ease. Will had not once seen him crack a smile. Not once had he seen him in any other way than keeping the perfect pose – tall, straight, stiff, his face earnest, ordering around the officers in a tone as polite as it was sharp. _If_ he cast Will a side-glance, it was one of mild amusement mingled with – well, he couldn't really say what it was exactly. Mistrust, perhaps?

In fact, Will mistook the Lieutenant completely in this respect. Those measuring glances the boy sometimes noticed were no signs of mistrust, but vague curiosity. He had realised that the child had a kind of natural perceptiveness of the sea, which was astounding for a boy of such age, who had spent nine of his ten years firmly grounded on solid English earth. He'd make a fine sailor once – but then again, after surviving shipwreck once, the boy wasn't likely to try his luck again, was he.

"Lieutenant Norrington?" Elizabeth said one afternoon, having escaped her father's care and her usual shadow in tow. She spoke in that typical manner, girlish with a fringe on playful cheek. "Lieutenant Norrington?"

"What is it, Miss Swann?"

"Do you have a first name?"

The boy next to her blushed to his ears and tried to shush her up, but she didn't let him and smiled boldly. The Lieutenant suppressed a snigger. "What do you fathom, Miss Swann?"

"I _fathom_ you do have a name. Everybody has!"

"Precisely."

"So? What is it?"

"It is 'James', Miss Swann."

"Can I call you James then?"

"I don't think your father would be happy if you did that, Miss Swann."

"But _your_ father is a friend of _my_ father, is he not, so doesn't that make _you_ a friend of _mine_, too?"

He chuckled despite himself. "One could see it like that, I suppose."

"Because I wouldn't mind you calling me Elizabeth, you know?"

"I tell you what, Miss Swann – why don't you start with your friend Mr Turner here. I haven't heard _him_ address you by your first name either. I am an officer of His Majesty and must therefore stick to the proper decorum."

Elizabeth stuck out her bottom lip and went away, sulking. With Will, she had been as little successful as with _James_ – because she was determined to call him so nonetheless. She called her new friend 'Will', too – but no flattering, no threats could make him return that familiarity, he'd call her 'Miss Swann', no matter what.

That evening at dinner – which was odd as always, because Captain Craddock would stay in his chambers like usually, and the First Lieutenant wouldn't take his place at the table for all the world – Elizabeth summoned all her bravado and said, "Could you please pass me the bread, James?"

Her father swallowed his bite the wrong way and coughed, but the Lieutenant's only reaction was a subtle smirk. "Of course, Miss Swann. Would you care for the butter as well?"

She was disappointed. She had believed she could put him out, but he looked as serenely cool as ever and handed her the bread basket as if nothing had happened. Her father had caught his breath again and reprimanded her, "Elizabeth! Address the Lieutenant with his proper title, please! – I am deeply sorry, Lieutenant!"

"You needn't be, Sir, I assure you."

"And also, we're friends, Father!"

"Please, child, don't pester Lieutenant Norrington's nerves!"

"Forgive me for disagreeing with you, Governor, but your daughter is far from _pestering_ me in any small way. Frankly, I think her candour is quite delightful."

"You are kind, Lieutenant. You see, it's a mother missing here…" The two men conversed politely, and Elizabeth went back to sullen silence. She disliked it when the adults were acting as if she wasn't around, she equally begrudged _James_ for not reacting to her little joke, and she was habitually scandalised that her father wouldn't invite poor William around, who was compelled to eat with the crew.

But maybe it was for the better. The Lieutenant and Will better not spend too much time together. She had once heard Lieutenant Norrington swear that he'd see to it that every pirate got what he deserved – the noose, that was! – and she was very much afraid that dear William _was_ a pirate after all. She had found that pirate medallion after he had been fished out of the ocean and never dared to question him about it. Technically, he didn't even know that she had taken it from him while he had passed out. She hadn't stolen it though! She had done it for his own good, really! Because she wanted to protect him! She suspected that _James_ – ha! – wouldn't keep his promise and incarcerate a ten year old boy, let alone have him executed. He tried to conceal it, but she just knew that he was very nice essentially. What she did _not_ know was if it was even in his _power_ to grant clemency, because he wasn't the Captain of the ship, because his loyalty was with the Crown and he had to obey the laws…

The development of the 'godforsaken hamlet' in the years following Governor Swann's appointment was most astounding for anyone, not at last James Norrington. After ages of nameless oblivion, the tiny settlement was duly dubbed 'Port Royal', the small fleet under Admiral deLesseps' command secured the area and stopped the frequent pirate raids that had kept the village from prospering in the past, and the Governor introduced law and order, so far unknown to the struggling villagers. Indeed, in less than ten years Port Royal had risen from aggrieved meaninglessness to a synonym for well-doing decency, more than just an outpost and supplying station for ships going westwards.

This was only half true, if one was honest. Admiral deLesseps by title commanded the soldiers all right, but he was stationed in Kingston, one thousand miles away. Captain Craddock was supposed to be in charge, but since their passage from England, his state hadn't bettered at all, rather the opposite. Once again, Lieutenant Norrington – who was promoted to be Captain in less than a year after their arrival, the Admiral had heard about his merits and reacted instantly – had to substitute for his superior, and there wasn't a soul in Port Royal, regardless how malevolent, that didn't credit him to be rather ingenious about his job. A brilliant strategic mind, dauntless, but ever so caring about the well-fare of his subjects, he avoided risky confrontations to spare his mariners, but didn't shrink away from the necessary actions either and won each one of them in a panache, with hardly any losses on side of the Royal Navy. He did keep his word – he purged the south-eastern Caribbean of practically all acts of piracy, and as much as he'd have refuted the compliments, but it was rather his level-headed reign over the fortress and its soldiers than Governor Swann's pompous sense for decorum that had brought them all this far.

After being made a Captain aged only twenty-four, nominal Head of the fort at twenty-seven after Captain Craddock's official retirement, he was in for the next promotion at the rather sensational age of thirty-one – Admiral deLesseps would come all the way from Kingston to inspect the troops and confer the rank of a Commodore to him. He knew he had deserved this honour, but he couldn't believe it nonetheless.

Who would have figured…? Certainly not he, or Sir Alfred. His start in life had been quite unfortunate; he was the second youngest of Sir Alfred Norrington's six sons and therefore without any claim to either title or inheritance, his mother had died in childbirth, so he had been raised by an indifferent and chiefly absent father and this one's cold second wife, but mainly by a strict, humourless Scottish governess, sending him straight to boarding school and subsequently to Mariner's College. He hadn't seen Crowley's End, the family estate, in fifteen years, and had no real wish to ever see it again.

His career in the King's Navy hadn't promised to be rewarding either. Lanky and meagre in his youth, he hadn't had the stature for a proper seaman to begin with, additional to the fact that his talents and traits of character had been of a different sort as well. He had been a gifted pianist, a great reader, timid, humble and good-hearted. Boys like him usually didn't make useful soldiers. Consequently, no one could have been more astonished than James Norrington himself with his comet-like rising within the King's Navy.

Sir Alfred's care had gone so far as to secure him an ordinary officer's commission; at the tender age of seventeen he had hired on the Philadelphia as a common midshipman and sailed off to the Atlantic, fighting the French. His captain had taken a liking in him there, due to James' cleverness, self-discipline and remarkable gift to handle a sword. Despite his rather delicate frame, he had bravely fought in battle, and within less than a year, he had been made a proper officer. Aged twenty-two, he had been First Lieutenant, the Philadelphia had been destroyed and he had been sent to the Caribbean instead, aboard of the Dauntless. He credited this ship to be the very foundation of his naval glory, he was almost devoted to it, if it was possible to be truly attached to an inanimate object.

As for _real_ attachment – to human beings – and not just any human being, but the most perfect creature in the whole wide world… Oh yes, there was somebody who had captivated his heart and soul entirely. He hadn't thought it possible to _ever_ feel so much for somebody – he wasn't the romantic, or even overly emotional type. But there he was, desperately in love with the one perfect girl, the making and undoing of all his felicity.

He couldn't have said when it had begun. He knew her for eight years by now, had known her when she was a little girl still, had seen her grow up from a cheerful, lively child to a smart, vivacious and stunningly beautiful young woman. But neither her wit nor her appearance was what had got him. Elizabeth… Oh, where to start! She was so charming, her smiles so endearing, her laughter bewitching. She was still every bit as lively as she had used to be, still unguarded, candid, saucy. Only her affection for her father bridled her temper to a degree appropriate for the daughter of Port Royal's most superior man – but only when she was in public. At home, regardless whether the Head of the fort was there or not, she was very much herself. He would have been inconsolable if it had been otherwise.

For some time, he had contemplated if he could be so bold and ask her to marry him, but had always discarded the idea. At first, she had been too young still. It wasn't unheard of, but James disapproved of fifteen year old girls being married off to considerably much older men. In time, he realised that her juvenile age had been a mere pretext for his own insecurity. How could he even _dare_ approaching her, tender, immaculate and holy as she was?

She'd never accept his hand in a hundred years! Why should she, after all? She was perfection itself, what was she supposed to do with a stiff, boring officer thirteen years her senior? On the other hand, he couldn't get her out of his head either, months on sea, fierce battles, thunderous storms – nothing drove her out of his mind for more than a few moments, and nothing, nothing at all could ever drive her out of his heart.

Elizabeth was vaguely aware that the Commodore had a soft spot for her. Ever so correct in manners and attitude, he got self-conscious in her company. Sometimes he positively evaded to look at her – on other occasions, she found him gazing at her, lost in thought – he blushed when she came too close for being entirely proper – and every now and then, he forgot what he was about to say to her in mid-sentence. When she had first noticed his changed behaviour, she hadn't thought about it at all. Assisted by quantities of embarrassing novels that she hid from anyone, however – she thought she understood why he would act so weird, and amused herself by puzzling him some more, by winking at him, by 'accidentally' grazing his arm, by asking him to dance when her father was giving a party. Afterwards, she was always duly ashamed with herself for such behaviour – because Elizabeth found that she had developed a bit of a crush herself, and realised that one must not be kidding with that sort of feeling.

Unfortunately, it wasn't her old friend James who she began to dream of. It was her _other_ old friend, of whom she saw far too little for her liking. Will. William Martin Turner. The apprentice of Mr Brown, the blacksmith. No matter how hard she tried to revive their friendship of old, the man wasn't to be moved to show the slightest inclination for her, a fact that only kindled her interest.

Oh, what a man he had become! So handsome! These eyes! These cheeks! That figure formed by hard work! And so modest, and shy! Admittedly, sometimes when she was thoroughly dispirited with his reserve, she'd call the same behaviour 'taciturn and boorish', but of course, that was nonsense. Sweet Will was as perfect in Elizabeth's eyes as she was in James Norrington's. He was like one of the heroes in the novels she clandestinely read. Handsome and humble, mysterious (well, quiet, anyway!) – and she had never forgotten the pirate medallion she had found when they had first met. Yes, in Elizabeth Swann's _head_, young William Turner was a hero like Captain Morgan. Noble. Brave. But most of all – free.

Especially the freedom aspect of her assessment of Will appealed to her. Because she felt confined and wedged herself. Port Royal, decent as it might have become lately, was _still_ a very small town in the very middle of nowhere. If anything happened in the world – Port Royal must surely be the last place to hear about it. And there was virtually no company for a young lady. Yes, there were other girls in her age. The cobbler had two daughters, so had the grocer, and quite a lot of the fishermen. But these girls had nothing in common with Elizabeth, and their parents would have looked just as suspiciously upon a friendship as the good Governor would have. A rich, sophisticated lady would give their daughters the wrong ideas – fancy, posh ideas that would only make them unhappy in the end. Because the grocer's daughters' best prospect in life was marrying one of the young fishermen, while Miss Swann would always be the Governor's rich, pampered daughter.

Governor Swann was a singularly kind-hearted man, friendly, well-mannered, generous and a loving father. But no one right in their mind would have called him a wit. And occasionally, he was as easily seen through as your average window pane. This was one of these days, Elizabeth thought dimly while trying her best to reconcile the stunning dress that her father had ordered for her from London, and the necessity to keep on breathing. Talking of confined! She suspected that the dress had been tailored for a child, because no healthy woman could have such a tiny ribcage. She also suspected that her good father had ulterior motives in this regard – having her spruced up on James great day… It surely wasn't Admiral deLesseps' visit that rendered him so excited. She had to talk to him about this, and she would, but he had already left her chamber again. She'd do it in the carriage on their way to the fort, yes. If she ever got so far, because this corset was slowly strangling her –

She knew what the Governor's gift for the new Commodore was going to be, so she was in quite a hurry. It was a sword, a very exquisite one, and the blacksmith's apprentice – _Will!_ – was due to deliver it. In fact, he might already be there, because Nigel, their butler, had announced a visitor. She hushed Estrella to get her dressed, and without any further preparations, she headed downstairs, only to catch one of the few glimpses she could get of her crush these days.

"Will! It's so good to see you! I had a dream about you last night!"

"About me?"

Her father reprimanded her gently for her lack of decorum, but she didn't listen. "About the day we met. Do you remember?"

Timid as always, he muttered, "How could I forget, Miss Swann?"

"Will, how many times must I ask you to call me Elizabeth?" she cried, slightly disappointed.

"At least once more, as always."

She scowled at him, angrier than the offence justified. That twit! Oh! Here she was, constantly making a fool of herself only to _see_ him, and he? He wouldn't even address her by her first name, as if they were just some chance acquaintances! Ph! She turned on her heel and marched out. What was she doing here anyhow?! Once in the carriage, she vaguely remembered that she had meant to seize the opportunity and have a word with her father before he did something foolish on the reception, something that would embarrass both her and James, but she was too disgruntled to argue now, and also – maybe she was going about this the wrong way. At least James _did_ take an interest in her and called her by her real name! She wasn't so needy to pine for some little boy. She had grown-up men to court her!

The ceremony was as boring as any military ceremony, hundreds of periwigged soldiers prancing about, and poor James in the thicket of it all. At least _he_ seemed to be enjoying himself, even though he was bound to feel as uncomfortable in his many brocade layers as Elizabeth was in her much too tight corset. He was radiating with pride, and he ought to – he deserved this promotion more than anyone. Still, the blazing sun, her shortage of breath, the sheer length of the parade got the best of her, after the disastrous beginning of the day, with Will giving her the cold shoulder –

Admiral deLesseps was _delighted_ to meet her again afterwards, so were a couple of other preeminent officers, before she even got a chance of congratulating her old friend on his happy day. A little smile crept over his face, but just as quickly dissolved again, and offering her his arm, he requested her to join him for a private word. This _should_ have been the proper moment for her to become suspicious, but she was out of sorts, grateful for the support and increasingly dizzy. He lead her to the embattlement, where she leant against a pillar. By now, it began to dawn on her what it was that he wanted, and her mind racing, she tried to come up with a ready-made answer. Did she want to marry him? Not really. But did she want to rebuff him? Just as certainly she did not. It wasn't out of place to ask for a respite, right?

Copiously, he began to speak about his promotion, how it made him realise what he had not yet achieved – Elizabeth barely listened, distraught by her own musings, and quite breathless. "A marriage to a fine woman. – You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth…"

Stars dancing before her eyes, she managed to utter, "I can't breathe –"

He smiled awkwardly and turned away. "Yes, I'm a bit nervous myself…"

She didn't hear what else he was saying, she passed out cold, her last thought being, 'Oh, isn't this fantastic, I keel over during my first ever proposal!'

When she regained consciousness, she was disorientated. Not knowing what had happened, nor where she was, nor who this weird-looking stranger was, cowering above her and grabbing for the medallion hanging around her neck. Oh shoot! The medallion! She snatched it back just in time before her rescue guard arrived – James, her father and half a dozen officers.

To her greatest astonishment, it turned out that the stranger had saved her from drowning, but even more wonderful – he was _Jack_ _Sparrow_. Oh, she had heard of him! She had heard _everything_ about him! He had raided Nassau Port without a single shot – only by making maximum mayhem. He had escaped the East India Trading Company six times on total, once while a whole squad of agents had guarded him. He had blown up a Spanish gold frigate and squandered the whole freight in one delirious weekend in Tortuga. He had –

James, ever so unimpressed, no matter how famous a pirate was, scathingly taunted Sparrow. "You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard about!"

"But you _have_ heard of me."

He spoke with a slur, prompting James to stare at him as if he was mad, and on a closer look, that might not be far from the truth. Jack Sparrow looked decidedly eccentric, if that was enough. His hair was matted and adorned with pearls and other trinkets, most of the teeth she could see from her position were gold-capped, his arms, his chest were covered with tattoos. So much wouldn't have been unusual for a pirate – not that Elizabeth had ever met one, but she had read everything relevant about 'em – but there was an altogether tattiness and nuttiness about him that stuck out even from her wildest imaginations.

She tried to put in a good word for Sparrow, but neither James nor her father would waver, and before she realised what was happening, Sparrow had grabbed her, thrown the chains of his handcuffs around her throat and used her as leverage to negotiate his way out of this mess. She would have sympathised with the idea in itself, if it hadn't been for her shock, the cold iron pressing against her neck, and the pirate's repugnant body odour.

Governor Swann made big eyes and yelled at the soldiers to take down their guns. James merely blanched, his eyes flickering between Sparrow, Elizabeth, and the chain.

"I knew you'd warm up to me. Commodore Norrington, my effects, please. And my hat. Commodore!" He sneered as if he was enjoying himself and turned to his hostage. "Elizabeth – it is Elizabeth, isn't it?"

"It's _Miss Swann_," she spat tersely.

"Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind. Come, come, dear, we don't have all day. Now if you'd be very kind…" He prompted her to put on his effects, and when it came to his belt, he grinned ambiguously. "Easy on the goods, darling!"

"You're despicable!"

"Sticks and stones, love, I saved your life, you save mine. We're square. – Gentlemen – m'lady – you will always remember this as the day that you almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" He pushed her away and made his exit – a most improbable exit, worthy of all the tales she had heard about him – while she crashed into James and one of his officers. The officer toppled, but James caught her from falling – he had caught her a hundred times before, because as a child, she had taken perverse delight in trespassing every single rule laid down for living on a ship – or in a seaport – and clambered onto the mast, the sails, every balustrade she came across, always crying pertly before jumping down, 'Catch me if you can, Lieutenant!'

He always had, and so did he now, but otherwise he was frozen for a second. Incredulity was edged into his features, before he regained enough composure to order Sparrow's pursuit. For a man who had been on the verge of proposing to her some minutes ago – if her memory didn't deceive her there – he was surprisingly quick in leaving her to her father's care now, she thought and pouted.

"Elizabeth, dear – are you all right?"

"Well…"

Was she? She was dripping wet, standing about in her underwear and someone had threatened to kill her! Additional to the other vexations of the day, and James' rather alarming advances – no, she wasn't _all right_, not at all. She wasn't the type of girl to start crying, so she vented her dismay on her poor father by hurling at him all sorts of unjust accusations, as if it was _his_ fault that William Turner was a clumsy twit, as if he had twisted James' arm to make him propose, as if Governor Swann had personally invited the Caribbean's most notorious pirate to come and mess with her. But as a matter of fact, she told herself, _some_ of this was _entirely_ his fault! Hadn't he bought that ridiculous piece of clothing that had cut her circulation so badly that she had passed out? During her first ever proposal?! Almost drowning her next? Having that heinous corset ripped off by a pirate?

A storm was drawing closer to the island, mirroring Elizabeth's filthy mood and she retired early to her chambers, with a good book – or what she secretly deemed a good book to be. Her anger had faded away and all that was left was confusion. Sparrow had been captured and incarcerated – suited him well, the bastard! But after all, he _had_ rescued her, so she didn't feel well with his execution either… Maybe she could talk James and her father into some deal – neither of them was capable to deny her anything, though she wasn't sure whether that lenience included clemency towards wanted criminals. James… Oh, good heavens.

She was in trouble, wasn't she? She wasn't inclined to get married for a start. She was but eighteen! She was the mistress of the Governor's house in some ways, but she knew that being the mistress of _Commodore Norrington's_ house, as his _wife_, was going to require something very different. Manners, poise and countenance, duties of all sort that she didn't dare pondering on… No, she wasn't ready for that sort of thing. And also…

_James_ – how could she marry _James_ of all men? Yes, he was the very epitome of respectability, of honour, of courtesy, of everything just and good in this world. There was no girl in Port Royal – or on this island – and possibly no anywhere in this part of the world really – that wouldn't have given her right arm and firstborn child in order to secure _Commodore Norrington's_ hand and household. Just that Elizabeth had never regarded herself to be one of those girls.

Not only was he thirteen years her senior – _thirteen years_, for crying out loud! – but he was _James_! She knew him since the day they had left England back then! He was her oldest friend so to speak, in many respects of the term! Sure, there couldn't be a better husband in all the world – she was a hundred percent certain of _this_. He was kindness itself. He was smart. He was erudite and literate. He was fair, obliging, attentive. He had impeccable manners, he was polite, she knew he would anticipate her every wish. In all reason, he was bound to be as perfect as a husband as he was as a gentleman. But Elizabeth had never been a creature of reason.

What did he want with her, anyway? _He_ knew her intimately since her childhood, too! He knew that she was unguarded and inordinate, and frequently lacked the proper manners. She'd make him an appalling wife, and he couldn't be oblivious of it! Estrella, her own chambermaid, would make him a better wife! That wretched corset that her father had given to her suddenly symbolised everything she'd have to expect from marrying the Commodore of Port Royal. She'd be tied to this place _forever_. She'd _never _get away from here! She'd _suffocate_! He would be all friendliness, and she'd feel compelled by his generosity to slowly stop breathing, and ultimately stop living.

She couldn't concentrate on the book – or rather, she _had_ concentrated and found all the bits strongly discouraging her. Love – passion – _that_ ought to be the foundation of conjugal life, and they were still talking about _James Norrington_, weren't they! Passion?! James and passion didn't belong in the same sentence! Not in the same paragraph! They couldn't be printed in the same book, ultimately!

There he was – today was the perfect example of everything he stood for. The uniform, elegant and impractical, adorned with gold and a whole lot of medals. The wig! She had to strain to remember what his hair _truly_ looked like! Back then, as a Lieutenant on the Dauntless, he hadn't been wearing a wig, though it was mandatory – he had lost it during a hurricane and hadn't bothered to get a new one before reaching their destination. That accounted for his common sense – he had a lot of common sense, so how could he ask someone as irresponsible as her to become his wife, for heaven's sake?!

Estrella came with a bed-warmer. This was one of the vestiges of her past life in England. Technically, nobody in the Caribbean needed bed-warmers, ever. But when she felt crestfallen like now, this old and superfluous device offered her comfort. Estrella put it under the blankets and shot her an impish grin. "There you go, Miss. It was a difficult day for you, I'm sure."

She shrugged vaguely, chewing on her bottom lip. "I suspected Commodore Norrington would propose, but I must admit, I wasn't entirely prepared for it…"

"Well, I meant you being threatened by that pirate – sounds terrifying!"

"Oh… Yes. Yes, it was terrifying…"

Estrella smiled subtly. "But the Commodore proposed! Fancy that! Now that's a smart match, Miss, if it's not too bold to say!"

See? _See?_ Even Estrella was slightly taken aback by the idea, or at least astonished! "It _is_ a smart match… He's a fine man… He's what any woman should dream of marrying…"

Estrella's smile widened a fraction yet. "Well – that Will Turner, he's a fine man, too…"

"That _is_ too bold!" But true! Damned true! Only that sweet Will would never ever in their life make an offer of marriage to her! Perhaps he was involved with one of the village girls even, Elizabeth had no idea – what she did know though was that he didn't show the slightest inclination to get involved with _her_. He probably looked at her in the same way that she looked at James – seeing nothing but an old friend, someone who had been protective in the past, someone who'd always be dear and nothing else.

Why couldn't _Will_ propose to her? She'd have known at once what to answer! Yes, of course! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! Speaking of love! Of _passion_! Of the countless bees in her stomach whenever she thought of him! How his soft brown eyes made her swoon! How she seized the Sunday morning service only to look at him, indulging thoughts that were decidedly out of place in a church! _Him_ she'd marry at once, no doubts about it. How often had she dreamt of this – how she'd become Mrs William Turner – Elizabeth Turner – that had a ring to it!

Why didn't he like her at least a little bit? Well, he did like her for sure, but not in the right way! But _why_? She was pretty enough, wasn't she? Everyone kept telling her that she looked very nice. Perhaps she wasn't pretty enough for handsome William though, who could say? Perhaps he fancied the Caribbean type, with dark skin and exotic features. Or maybe he was more for the plumper girls, like Susan and Carol, the cobbler's daughters… Or maybe he was simply a little bit more perceptive than good old James, regarding her numerous shortcomings. James might not have noticed it so far, but Elizabeth knew that she was far from flawless, and possibly Will had realised so much as well. Just benign James was too good to see the truth. Where was his common sense when he needed it!

In that moment, she heard the first cannon beat.

* * *

The Usual Disclaimer: I own nothing. I suspect it all belongs to either Disney, or Jerry Bruckheimer. Bless them for giving us such wonderful story-telling material :) 

I am a big fan of the lovely Commodore - it shows, right? So. I intend to do the man justice. I'm _not_ going to re-tell the story bit by bit - I take recourse to the well-known 'canon' if I think it's necessary, or fits in well. I will stick to the story as it is presented in the movies, too. If I take artistic license, it'll be 'behind the scenes' of the movies as we know them. I won't alter them. I merely 'infuse' or extend scenes. So - I hope you enjoy the story, and if you do - please, _please _leave a feedback for me!


	2. Destitution

**DESTITUTION**

The human condition is brittle, as many writers, philosophers and drunkards never fail to point out. There is only so much that a man can take before breaking, no matter what – if you doubt this, ask a philosopher how to bear the toothache. James Norrington's undoing was of a different nature though. No physical hurt had destroyed him; ironically, the past years of hardship had bettered his health and dispelled any notion of whimsicality. He had lost everything. _Everything_, but his mere life, and come to this, he rather regarded living as a prolongation of his misery.

Perhaps this was petty self-pity. James Norrington had never been self-indulgent, but he thought he had some right to bemoan his fate. Surely, there were ample of people worse off than he was. But how many of them had fallen from the same height? After a comet-like career in His Majesty's services – that expression alone should have given him a clue back then, right? _Comet-like!_ They all vanished into vast nothingness, too! Anyway – after an admirable rise – after being made a Commodore at only thirty-one, which was a truly impressive achievement indeed! – after having been called 'The Scourge of Piracy' and having fully earned that title… It had all been so perfect – in retrospection, he blamed himself for his naiveté. He ought to have been more suspicious. He ought to have known that it was just a sham.

At the height of his success, he had asked the love of his life to be his wife, eventually she had accepted. Those six weeks of preparation for the wedding had been the happiest days in all his life. Why hadn't he realised that it must all crash down on him? He simply wasn't cut out for such felicity! On the very day of Sparrow's – oh, all right, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow's execution, Elizabeth had declared her true love for that little puppy, both of them had assisted Sparrow's escape, and James Norrington – well – he had been so stunned, he hadn't managed to do what was necessary. He _should_ have pursued the Black Pearl at once – he'd still have his old life if only he had done that. But he hadn't. He had surrendered to weakness, to a broken heart, instead of doing his duty, he had locked himself up in his room and drunk an entire bottle of brandy.

Elizabeth. Elizabeth… He had sailed across the seven seas, always in pursuit of Sparrow, he had overcome dead calms, sickness and Spanish pirates, but he hadn't got over Elizabeth still. They say that time will heal every wound. In his case, time had only made it worse. His decisions had become more reckless; he had believed that he would feel better if only he'd find and kill Sparrow, the origin of all his misery. The longer he was at sea, the more absorbed he had got by that idea. It was all Sparrow's fault. He, and he alone, was to blame. If he hadn't come to Port Royal back then, and hadn't dived after Elizabeth… – For quite some time he had blamed himself for listening to Gillette's advice and not jumping after her at once. Of course, he might have died right there. Oh, if only he had! He'd have died as an honourable man, at least, in pursuit of his beloved's life and well-fare!

But the self-reproaches wouldn't do, and while he never forgot them, he had become more and more obsessed with Sparrow instead. Sparrow had saved Elizabeth and given her a false idea of noble pirates. Sparrow had ensnared Turner to persuade the boy to spring him from prison, and stolen the Interceptor then. Had lost the Interceptor. Had molested Elizabeth on some godforsaken island. Had led them all on a wild-goose-chase, right into the arms of a bunch of undead scoundrels. And then, appealing to Elizabeth's sentimentality, he had seized his chance and escaped…

Day and night, James' mind had dwelt on this. He had no longer been the considerate, responsible commander that he had been in his prime, he had forced his sailors to go on over the brims of exhaustion, and then, there had been that awful night – that night – he would never forgive himself for this night.

A hurricane – not unusual, not even that dangerous if one acted like one ought to act – but he had ordered his men to set sails still. They had steered right into the heart of the storm, and not even a ship like the Dauntless, majestic and strong as she had ever been, could have come through this nightmare. How he had survived he knew not. He had been washed ashore, found and nursed by some fishermen. That was his punishment. Every single man of his crew was dead and lost, only he, the man responsible for their untimely deaths, had survived, to feel his guilt for the rest of his miserable, lousy existence.

He did his best to square that fate. In fact, he tried to keep a certain level of drunkenness at all times, to expel the horrible memories as good as he could. The screams. The indescribable sound of his beloved ship shredded to pieces. The terrified faces of the young boys, not older than fourteen, fifteen, entrusted to his guard. The raucous roaring of the sea swallowing one after the other, and still demanding more. The last he remembered was Gillette, the only real friend he had had in a lifetime, speared by a plank and collapsing only ten feet away –

Strangely enough, he never once asked himself what he had done to deserve such a cruel fate. Life wasn't about justice, he had grasped so much shortly after he had learned to walk. The Lord had put him on the test and he had disastrously failed it, that was all. He _did_ deserve to suffer. Perhaps this was the reason why he had given himself up so entirely. Midshipman or Commodore, James Norrington had _never_ indulged himself. He had lived moderately, never drunk, never taken advantage of his position or riches. He had taken care of himself, of his health, he had taken pride in being the very epitome of respectability, back then, in the old days. But no more. Nowadays, he took a perverse joy in doing just anything that was bad for him. In his eyes, he mustn't do well ever again. He must never again be comfortable. He must never look at his own reflection with a sense of righteousness again.

Tortuga wasn't such a bad place as he had always thought. After quite an odyssey, from Tripolis to Lisbon, from Lisbon to Kingston, from Kingston to Nassau Port, he had ended up in the filthiest hamlet between Shanghai and London, making his living by brewing Rum for one of the taverns. He still possessed a vast fortune, but he wouldn't have touched it for the world. He had no right to do so. That money had been earned by an honourable man with an honourable profession – he would have felt like a robber to take as much as a penny from his old treasures.

Another ironic aspect of his new life was that the dirtier he got, the more luck he had with the opposite sex. Not that he bothered, but he hadn't failed to observe this startling change nonetheless. There was hardly a whore in town who hadn't offered to put him up. As Commodore Norrington, half a dozen of well-bred young ladies would have given their right arms to become his wife, sure, but he wasn't silly enough to believe that any of them had actually _liked_ him. They hadn't minded him, all right, but first and foremost, they had liked his fortune and his rank. They had forced themselves to smile and simper, and pretended to take an interest in naval affairs.

Now that he owned nothing but the clothes he was wearing, stinking of booze, that he hadn't shaven in a month, that he was so beside himself most of the time that he had difficulties to spell his own name – _now_ a dozen prostitutes fought over his company. They couldn't get enough of his stories, they wanted to hear about Elizabeth, about that blacksmith puppy, about Jack Sparrow (unnecessary to mention that they all knew Captain Sparrow intimately and thought he was a right old slob). They were keen on all the details of Barbossa and his crew of miscreants, and they would have wanted to know about the pursuit and the awful hurricane also, but they accepted that he couldn't go there.

They were baking cakes for him, they had mended his only shirt so often that it had a different colour by now, they abandoned their customers because they spotted him sitting in a tavern corner brooding in depression, came over and sat down to coddle over him. Strictly speaking, he had never been in better, more caring hands. Giselle and Scarlet, Dolores and Nadine, Nicoletta and MyLing – they looked after him and saved him from destitution.

It was Nicoletta who had come to him this morning, gently waking him up, a cup of Gin in one hand and a shredded piece of paper in the other. "James – Jimmy – sweetheart – you got to take a look at this, dear –"

"Leave me alone!"

"Honey, I know your skull must be fit to burstin', but you _really_ need to see this!"

"Yeah, and I will if you come back tonight," he grunted and turned around, but she didn't let him. She forced him to sit up, urged him to take a sip of Gin, and slowly, he gathered enough of his senses to open his eyes. It took him a moment to grasp what he was looking at there, spraying the Gin over the paper in shock.

"WHAT?!"

"Yes, yes! I _told_ you it's important! Don't you worry, sweetie, Giselle and Doris and me have seen to tear them all off again, but –"

It was a poster, with a picture of himself – although in better days – and the huge proclamation 'WANTED – 100 English Pounds REWARD'. At first he thought that in one of his drunk rampages, he must have done some crime that he couldn't even remember now, but then he read the smaller print. According to this, he was a wanted criminal because he had helped the notorious pirate Jack Sparrow escape. This must be a joke. This couldn't be _true_. Hadn't he already reached the bottom line?! He had sunk so deep, and now he was supposed to see himself slandered?!

"We will testify for you, sweetheart! All of us! We know there is no better soul in all the Spanish main, oh what the heck, you're the best man the whole New World has ever seen. So good – so decent – even Father O'Leary would testify for you, I'm sure –"

He didn't have the heart to tell her that the testimonies of a dozen prostitutes and one derelict priest who had been kicked out of his order weren't going to help him one bit, even if they had had any knowledge of the actual events in the first place. His head was thumping, incredulous and angry beyond words, he couldn't but swallow the rest of the Gin. Nicoletta fumbled with her purse, producing another piece of paper and unfolding it. This time, he dropped the cup and groped the poster.

"_Elizabeth?!_"

"See, I thought it must be her, that tart! She's escaped from prison, apparently!"

"_Elizabeth?!_"

"I must own that she looks rather pretty, still, she's so unworthy of you, darling and you are much better off without that two-timing wr-"

"Shh! Sh! Don't – just don't –" He couldn't account for it, but he strongly disapproved of other people talking badly about his former fiancée. Admittedly, there was hardly a night when he didn't soundly abuse her – those were the moments when he truly felt alive, niggling and swearing, and cursing the day he had met her, but… This was _his_ grief. _He_ had been the one to love and lose her, he was the only one entitled to think ill of her, and hearing that she had fled from prison – implying that she had been incarcerated to begin with – still shocked him. Genuinely _hurt_ him even. Elizabeth, sweet Elizabeth! Imprisoned! Disgraced! The poor, poor child!

The second cup of Gin restored some more of his common sense. After all, Elizabeth _had_ assisted Sparrow's flight and laid the foundation for his own ruin. She didn't need any of his pity or sympathy, did she. But poor Governor Swann though! That man couldn't harm a fly, and now he had to face his only child going to the gallows? He must be desperate!

Nicoletta and her friends had indeed managed to remove all the wanted lists bearing his picture, but James knew that his peaceful time in Tortuga was close to an end. 100 pounds were fearfully much money, there'd be loads of scallywags around to betray him for a tenth of that sum. So he would be hanged. Oh well. He had it coming, hadn't he? It was right, it was fair –

"Hang on a minute, mister!" Dolores cried out when he repeated this that night in the tavern. "_You_ are _innocent_!"

"I am _not_ innocent. I'm to blame for the death of 258 honourable sailors, I –"

"Oh, come off it, hearty! This reward isn't set out on a captain who made a wrong decision at sea! This is for springing a man from prison, and you've done no such thing!"

"I didn't follow him in time!"

"You were in mourning!"

"I was an officer of the crown, I had no _right_ to be mourning!"

"Oh yeah? Let's see what your good King Georgie'd do if he was deserted by his bride in front of the altar!"

"We weren't in front of the altar!"

"But as good as, and anyway, don't be so sodding stubborn, Jimmy! This whole thing is crap, and you know it! You're not telling me that you intend to let yourself be hanged for a crime that you had nothing to do with!"

She had a fair point there. No matter what other guilt was upon his shoulders, this one charge was false and unjust, and no, he did not intent to be killed for it. A minuscule bit of his old zest had returned to him and he made some investigations. The man behind his warrant for arrest was Phineas Cutler Beckett – _Lord_ Cutler Beckett as he was called by now, proving that every wicked dog could come to fame and rank in the kingdom if they were persistent and ruthless enough. Actually, James knew this scoundrel far better than he liked – they had been in boarding school together. That pathetic piece of filth! That short shot of a carnivorous plant! So he had made a career in the East Indian Company?! They'd take anyone, would they?!

Phineas Cutler Beckett had been tiny in stature, but made up for this shortcoming in malice. He had schemed and plotted, blackmailed, stolen and slandered, in fact there hadn't been a boy comparable to him in terms of unpopularity among his fellows. The teachers had been very fond of him, which had been just as well. He had sucked up to them by giving away other students; sometimes he had intentionally set some poor boy up to appear in a better light himself. Yes, James remembered him very well. More than once, he had spent days and nights in detentions due to some nasty trick that Cutler Beckett had played on him. You always met twice, eh?

So that was the man behind all this? James' will to resist grew stronger with each minute. He wouldn't give in to that mangy rat of a midget. _If_ he was to be hanged, he would find a judge of his own kind! The ladies supported him in that attitude, swearing to help him as good as they could. Still, it was only a matter of time before the next set of posters would be delivered. He'd have to get away. He'd have to find a ship to take him away. For now, he'd be better off at sea.


	3. Retribution

**RETRIBUTION**

"Honey, you wouldn't _believe_ what the sea's washed ashore today!" Dolores cried when entering his room – if one could be bold and call the little place he had made for himself in the attic of the Swamp Lily, between two broken cupboards and a huge pile of wooden plank boxes a 'room'. She looked unaccountably cheerful – cheerful, and a tad uncomfortable, on a second look.

"My dearest Dolores, you are speaking in riddles, and besides, I would prefer it if you didn't call me _honey_."

"As you please, pumpkin, but since you're as sweet as honey and –"

"Dolores!"

"All right, all right. _Commodore_, is that better?"

"No, it is _not_, as you well know! Make it James, or _Jimmy_ if you must. What did you want anyway? Is that bottle for me?"

She nodded, handed him the Rum and gave a deep sigh. "Darl- sorry – _James_… Well, for a start – let's have a drink together, shall we?"

"Out with it, Dolores!"

"Take a big sip first, hon!"

"Is it really so bad?" His stomach took a leap; he had a sudden, fleeting image of Elizabeth being hanged, and drained a quarter of the flask at once.

"No – well – personally, I find it rather amusing, you see, but… I'm afraid you might miss the comic about this."

He knew that woman, and what was more, he was perfectly aware how she thought about Elizabeth. _She_ would find it comical when something happened to his former bride, thinking it some sort of justice.

"Is she – she's not dead, is she?" he asked hesitantly, his breath caught.

"Who? Dead? What?"

He couldn't suppress the audible relief in his voice. "Oh, nothing, nothing. What is it?"

Dolores shook her head, half laughing, half exasperated. "Jimmy, you've got to get over this goddamned broad. Honestly, I mean well!"

"I _am_ over her, still I'd be very much displeased to hear of her execution. Is that so hard to understand?!"

"Keep your wig on, darling!"

"I lost my wig somewhere in the Mediterranean, and I'm _not_ your darling, Dolores!"

"Yes, and whose fault is _that_ now, eh? Have some more booze. Charly's sent it over, especially for you." She was trying his patience, but for now, he'd obey and drink. She was right, he did need it, because she went on, "Half of the local whores are having a ball tonight – looks like payment night. Everyone's favourite debtor's come to town."

"You mean… – "

"Yeah. I mean. Him. The Bastard."

"You mean he's _here_? Like – _in_ _Tortuga?!_" She nodded, and James emptied the bottle. After chasing that wretched man across the seven seas – _without getting him!_ – Jack Sparrow simply sailed into this very harbour? Just like that?! He rummaged through the little possessions he had, finding another small bottle of Rum, half-empty, but it'd do for the moment. Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow! Please note – that cursed pirate _still_ had a ship, and a crew, and a title, and he? James Norrington? No ship, no crew, no title, no honour!

"You still want to leave Tortuga, Jimmy?"

"Sure. But I'll make a delay for getting even with Sparrow first!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, hon. Because – well – he's looking for a crew."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's hiring men to sail out with him. Appears that most of his crew was eaten by cannibals."

He looked at the Rum and wondered if he could already be that drunken. "Come again?"

"They were eaten. By cannibals. At least that's what I've heard in the tavern." She shuffled her feet and straightened the lace on her décolletage. "The point is – he's in a hurry, and you could hire on the Black Pearl, couldn't you?"

"Are you out of your mind, woman?!"

"I'm serious. Look… You've got to get away. Mark my words, in less than two weeks, there'll be a raid. They haven't been here for an oddly long time, and one of my customers who made berth in Santa Flora told me that there was a raid there last week. They're coming. I mean – you know how much I'd like you to stay, but…"

"I'd rather _swim_ all the way to Santa Flora than hire on Sparrow's ship, Dolores!"

"Well, then you'll have to swim, sweetheart, or they'll lead you away in irons! I believe you remember the procedures? How they deal with – well – the blokes on their lists?"

"Criminals, Dolores. It's _criminals_. Just say it like it is. I am a wanted _criminal_."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh for Christ's sake, Jimmy! You know perfectly well that all this is ridiculous, you are _no_ criminal, you're probably the only man on this whole island who's never committed a single crime in his life! Stop wallowing in pity! The problem is that your old buddies don't give a damn whether a charge is just or not. You'll be hanged before you can say 'Falsely'! Mark my words, you won't get a fair trial. Perhaps _you_ were all law-abiding and correct in your time, but trust me, the vast majority of your colleagues is not like that. You've got to flee! And as it looks, Jack Sparrow's the best chance you'll get."

With the help of yet another of Dolores' hip flasks, he considered his options. The sane part of him, or whatever was left of it, knew that she was right. He did have to escape as soon as possible. The Black Pearl was as good or as bad as any other pirate's vessel. However, the vindictive part of him, and that was the part who had taken the prime lead in the last months, this part found the mere _idea_ of serving under _Captain Jack Sparrow_ repulsive. Hate him, kill him, dance on his grave – oh, yes! But _serve_ him? Certainly not!

The Rum had both a soothing and an inciting effect on him. Soothing in so far as his common sense slowly got control over the rest of him. Inciting because his anger, so close to the surface these days, grew stronger the harder he suppressed it. He made up his mind. At least, he would have a look. He'd go over to the tavern and take a look at Captain Sparrow. It couldn't hurt. Well, yes, it _could_ hurt, and it _would_ hurt, in all probability; it would tear open old wounds that had never healed ever so slightly in the first place. On the other hand, he felt a strange curiosity. He _had_ to see the man that he had followed for so long, until he had almost believed that Sparrow was but a phantom, that he couldn't be real or James would have found and tackled him then.

Dolores offered to accompany him, but he declined. If anything, he needed to do this on his own. He couldn't bear her pity, and if he was to shoot Sparrow on the spot, he didn't want her to witness it. She had been good to him, she and her friends were the only people in this whole wide world who did _believe_ in him, when he, James Norrington, had lost all faith in himself. She mustn't see how he'd shoot a man in the forehead.

Sparrow held court in the Rose And Crown (a funny name, wasn't it, for the bearer of said crown would hardly approve of this joint, had he known of its existence). His old First Mate, Joshamee Gibbs, who James vividly remembered from the time when that old slob had served on the Dauntless – the Dauntless… Anyway! Mr Gibbs sat behind a table and surveyed the few recruits that had shown up. One had to be completely daft to hire on the Black Pearl, every child in the Caribbean knew that her Captain was mad and good for nothing. Consequently, only the dregs, who must have sprung from some mental asylum, had lined up to make their cross.

James stood in a corner, glancing at the poor sods over there, but chiefly observing Jack Sparrow. Smug and satisfied with himself as ever, was he? Maybe it was due to the Rum, but James thought that Sparrow looked a little less complacent than before. Had those cannibals – cannibals! Ph! – left some impression after all on this most high-handed swine? James thought to himself that he was in fact rather grateful that they hadn't eaten Sparrow like the rest of his men. Sparrow mustn't have died without James Norrington having his moment of retribution.

He couldn't say what was drawing him, but he found himself queuing behind one of those miserable souls. 'My wife's run away with the dog' – did he mean that literally? 'Since I was a child I wanted to go to sea' – that poor, deluded idiot! Sparrow was gathering a motley crew of retards there – served him well enough!

"And what's _your_ story?"

Ts! _His_ story! "My _story_? It's exactly the same as _your_ story, just one chapter behind. – I chased a man across the seven seas. The pursuit cost me my crew – my commission... And my life."

He hadn't meant to give his voice that bitter spin. He had wanted to seem as calm and composed as was appropriate for the man that he once been. To hell with it. He no longer was that man. Commodore Norrington was dead, long live Jimmy The Drunken Derelict!

He took another gulp of Dolores' Rum. Gibbs slowly looked up from his papers and narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Commodore…?"

Commodore! Hah! Did he _look_ like a Commodore now?! "No, not anymore! Weren't you _listening_?!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sparrow stir and move away in awkwardness. Ah! At least he did have a guilty conscience, did he?! Oh no! How silly! Jack Sparrow did not have a _conscience_. This was mere self-preservation. Gibbs was visibly uneasy and embarrassed – whether this was due to some remnants of decency or just shock remained uncertain – and in a sudden upheaval of fury, James knocked over the table. These were the men who had caused his ruin, and there was nothing he could do that'd remotely suffice to give him satisfaction. Oh well. Murdering Sparrow was at least a good start.

"So am I _worthy_ to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow," he drawled, drew his pistol and pointed it at the wretched dog. Had he been in any humour to find just anything funny in this second, he would have laughed out loud, seeing Sparrow's stupid face, looking for a cover but not finding any. "Or should I just kill you?"

"You're hired!"

How very generous. He ought to feel flattered, eh? Hired by the silliest pirate in the New World, and the Old World to boot! Back there in the Old World, he would either have been hanged twenty years ago, or made his living as a jester. Oh yeah – entertaining the rabble on the market places! He would have been _terrific_! James pulled the trigger and took aim.

"Sorry! Old habits and all that!" He sneered. This felt _good_, actually. Really _good_. So good in fact that he wanted to relish the moment some longer, the glint of genuine fear in Sparrow's eyes. Instead of shooting him at once, he raised his arm and shot at the ceiling and… – He couldn't say why, but this was the moment when things somehow got out of hands. Somebody had grabbed his arm, some other guy had knocked out another bloke standing nearby, and in a split second, the entire tavern was in a wild rough-and-tumble.

The last thing he could say for sure was that he was facing a dozen outraged drunkards. Then his lights went out. When he awoke, he found himself – where actually – oh god, this was just too awful to be true. He was lying face down in a puddle of mud, and had it been only _mud_, he wouldn't have complained. Jesus Christ, whenever he thought that he could impossibly sink any lower, he had to be proven wrong, right?!

His head was fit to split – he knew a concussion when he had one – his sight was blurred, some skinny boy bowed over him – and only then he realised just _how_ deep he had fallen. He'd have recognised this voice in an entire church choir in the middle of a roaring storm still.

"James Norrington, what has the world done to you?"

Ten seconds ago, he had still been unconscious. Why couldn't he just have _stayed_ unconscious?! Where was a faint when a man was in desperate need of one?! And once again, the rock bottom line had been lowered to another, yet unforeseen depth. In his time as a sailor, he had looked the devil in the eye, indeed, he had faced, fought and prevailed upon merciless pirates and undead carcasses – he'd be ready to confront the devil himself, if only he had been spared of this encounter. He was looking into the eyes of an angel, an angel of death as it were, but an angel still.

"Nothing that I didn't deserve," he croaked and tried to look away, wishing he was dead.

* * *

Thanks to **Telcontar Rulz** for the kind review!!!!


	4. Welcome Aboard

**WELCOME ABOARD**

Had anyone whipped him in the face, he wouldn't have flinched as frantically as he did when Elizabeth reached out and stroke over his mud-stained cheek now. Torn between denial, outright shock, deepest embarrassment and utter confusion, he couldn't but gape at her. Was he still unconscious? Was this some nasty dream? Could he be dead, perhaps? Whatever, anything would have been better than _this_!

"El-… Elizabeth?!"

"Sure, who else?" _Who else?!_ He couldn't have been more dumbfounded if he had seen Queen Mary sit before him! "Come on, you must get up, James. You can't stay here."

That blend of headache and petrifaction made him obey to everything she said; she helped him up, stabilised him when he swayed so badly that he was on the verge of falling down again. Only when she reached out to stroke a soggy strand of hair out of his eyes, he pushed her away. This was not to be born with! She _mustn't!_ touch him! Not _she_ of all people!

"Come, James, we better be quick –"

"Quick…?"

"The Black Pearl will sail out soon, we've got to get to the pier."

He gathered his last bits of self-command. "Then you better hurry, Miss Swann – oh, forgive me – Mrs Turner! I have no whatsoever intention to go aboard!"

"Yes, you have, trust me on that one. Now _come on_!"

He couldn't say why, but he let her drag him along, still utterly bewildered, and muttered under his breath, "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"That's a long, long story, James. I'll tell you all as soon as we're on sea."

"But I don't want to –"

"Oh, James, be sensible, will you! I can only imagine how dreadful you must find the notion to serve on a pirate ship – you of all persons – but you will find it much more pleasant than the gallows, I'm sure. I've come on a ship from Isla Portico, the Navy will arrive here within the next 48 hours. Sorry about your head, by the way."

She could be sorry about pretty much everything – after all this woman had inflicted nothing else but troubles, worries, heartaches and destruction on him – but why the heck would she be sorry for his – "_Head?_"

"Yeah. 'Twas me who hit you with that bottle. But I fancy it's better than you being stabbed by those morons. How much liquor did you have, incidentally?"

He sneered scornfully. "This evening, today, within the last week, or overall?"

She stopped and gave him an odd side look. "I've never seen you drinking –"

"You've never seen me lying in a pigsty either," he said as wryly as he felt.

"At least I know how you got _there_, but for the rest… What has _happened_?"

"What do _you_ care?!"

She was silent for a while and they went on. After a minute, she murmured, "Look, James, I –"

"Don't you dare calling me _James_!"

She grimaced in embarrassment. "Shall I call you – what – Commodore Nor-"

"Shut up! Just _shut up_! I'm no longer a Commodore, as you might have noticed, and incidentally, I got _you_ to thank for this! Oh, and talking of it – where's the whelp?"

"The – oh! _Oh!_" She scowled at him. "I suppose you're talking about Will, are you?"

"I wouldn't know how many fiancés or husbands you've accumulated by now, my dearest dallier. I'm talking about the little brown-eyed – or shall I say blue-eyed? – puppy that'd trail you and if you went to the world's end! I thought you two were so inseparable?"

"I take it that you're still sore about this whole thing then?"

Sore? _Sore?_ This girl had a nerve, really! Unfortunately, his spiteful answer was prevented by a sudden upturn of his stomach. He threw up, feeling as if his insides would come out. He simply was no Rum drinker. If anything, it should be Brandy, but that was hard to get around here. To make it all worse, he heard a couple of by now familiar voices approaching, and he squeezed his eyes shut in pain and humiliation.

"Jimmy?"

"Sweetheart! We've heard what's happened!"

"Oh my poor, poor darling! Are you all right?"

No. No. A definite _no_ to this question! Nicoletta and Dolores scurried over, their faces eloquent with genuine concern, and their corsages only halfway done. Elizabeth gave a small, incredulous gasp, but Dolores had already pushed her away to coddle over him.

"Get away, kid, we're taking over!"

"Thanks for helping him though – you can come and get your reward if you wish, but later." Nicoletta closely examined him, pressing a piece of lace onto the wound on the back of his head. "Oh Jimmy! You better lie down at once, this doesn't look good –"

"_Jimmy?!_" Elizabeth exclaimed in some amusement. "Anyway, I'll see to it that he will lie down, but for now, we've got to reach the Pearl before it sets sails!"

Dolores gazed at her, inclined her head and asked, "You seem somewhat familiar… Have we – _met_?"

"Don't be silly, Dolly, his voice hasn't broken yet!"

"You know as well as I do that this has never kept a boy from –"

He faintly realised that he had to do _something_. "Please – Dolores, dear… Nicoletta, I – er – I think it's better if I leave. I've hired on the Black Pearl, you see, and –"

"Have you now? That's sensible!"

"Still, what a pity! Any idea when you might come back, honey pie?"

Oh Lord. "No, actually I haven't, but – listen, we're in a bit of a hurry, and…" He glanced at Elizabeth, resolutely grabbed the two prostitutes' arms and turned away with them. "I got to thank you – for everything – oh, you know… I wish I had anything to give to you, but –"

Dolores giggled. "Oh, you know what we'd _truly_ want from you, Jimmy. Perhaps when you come back?"

He managed a smile. "I don't think I'll come back, dear. Say goodbye to Scarlet and Giselle for me, will you? And the others… I – I got to go –"

He hurried away as fast as he could in his desolate state, literally racing past Elizabeth and towards the docks. Had he truly believed that he couldn't be any more humiliated than being found by his former fiancée atop a manure heap? Dead wrong. Being seen in the arms of a couple of hookers by his former fiancée, _that_ was the very essence of humiliation! She quickly caught up with him, wearing a supreme, wolfish grin, and he had to throw up once more.

They reached the pier just in time and Elizabeth exclaimed into the general direction of the Pearl's Captain, "Captain Sparrow!"

Sparrow didn't bother to turn around, which was all the better from James' perspective. He didn't know if he could handle looking into the face of that lunatic just now. They wouldn't take him aboard if he tried to murder their Captain once more, would they?

"Come to join my crew, lad? Welcome aboard!"

Elizabeth snorted. "I have come to find the man I love!"

If James hadn't felt that sick already, this would have been the appropriate moment. Sparrow slightly flinched and called back over his shoulder, "Deeply flattered, son, but my first and only love is the sea."

"Meaning William Turner, Captain Sparrow!"

Lord, he felt awful, and he was already regretting that he had agreed to come. Meeting Turner and witnessing his and Elizabeth's felicity for the duration of a long journey was much more than he felt capable to stand up to. The prospect of a prison cell seemed cosy in comparison! His stomach seemed to think along the same lines and he vomited some more.

"…poor Will has been press-ganged into Davy Jones's crew!"

Yep, a concussion. James thought he had distinctly heard the name _Davy Jones_. As in 'Davy Jones' locker'. Tales of that pirate were the initiation rite so to speak, to scare the hell out of new midshipmen. One had to be younger than fifteen to believe in his existence.

"Davy Jones?"

Elizabeth looked as if she actually _believed_ in this nonsense – well, in fairness, _she_ had never been a midshipman, had she! "Oh _please_," he groaned, trying to keep his revolting stomach under control. "The Captain of the Flying Dutchman?!"

He couldn't help it; he had to throw up once more, until he was addressed by Sparrow.

"What are _you_ doing here? You look bloody awful!"

"You hired me. I can't help it if your standards are lax!"

"You smell funny!"

Oh, _really_? What a surprise. And he was about to smell some _funnier_ still – even if he failed to find any of this comical right now – he threw up two week's worth of liquor. When he came to his senses again, Elizabeth and Sparrow were discussing a way how to find –

"There is a chest –"

"Oh _dear_," James groaned. He had stumbled into the greatest bunch of fools he had ever come across – and mind you, he had come to see a _lot_ of fools in his time!

Sparrow ignored him. "A chest of unknown size and origin."

"What contains the still beating heart of Davy Jones," some sailor – who reminded James of a man he had personally put in jail once – said with glowing eyes.

Sparrow looked likewise smug. "And whoever possesses this chest, possesses the leverage to command Jones to do whatever it is he or she wants, including saving brave William from his grim fate!"

Elizabeth seemed to contemplate this bit of news. Oh, for heaven's sake – James had been ready to drag this girl to the altar – he hadn't known then that she was a complete nutter! "You don't actually believe him, do you?!" he moaned feebly.

But she ignored him, too – him, and the last voice of reason, that was! "How do we find it?"

Sparrow dangled a small object before her face, and James recognised it on a closer look. This was Sparrow's ludicrous compass. Or what Sparrow thought to be a compass, anyway, because could a thing looking like a compass, but not pointing north, actually be called a _compass_…?

"With this," Sparrow exclaimed with his usual complacency. "My compass. It's unique!"

"_Unique_ here having the meaning of _broken_," James taunted. He couldn't believe this. Any of this. Were these people all completely mad?! Did Sparrow's insanity rub off, when one spent just enough time in his company?! Going after _Davy Jones_ and his legendary _chest_, with the help of a broken compass?! He should consider himself lucky for _not_ having married Elizabeth then. The poor girl had suffered a heat stroke and gone nuts. He didn't expect any of the others here to listen to sense, but Elizabeth's gullibility truly shocked him. But then – Sparrow's madness had always worked with her, had it not?

Somebody ushered him to go aboard, and someone else – he knew this guy, he was certain – pressed a small goatling into his arms. Speaking of funny smells!

"Welcome aboard, former Commodore!"

There wasn't a single man among the crew who didn't find that joke hilarious. Tragically, there was no woman on board either – he saw how Elizabeth tried to recompose her features whenever somebody addressed him in this fashion. It hardly mattered. James' head was full with other things.

He was aboard the Black Pearl. This fact alone took a while to proceed. After spending years of chasing after that darned ship, sailing the remotest waters of this earth trying to find it, the ship and its Captain had found him instead. He had gone as far up as Iceland, had sailed around Fireland, had searched the Chinese Sea, the Black Sea and pretty much any waters bigger than a pond – and then Sparrow and the Black Pearl simply made berth in Tortuga, James' last – and only – refuge on this world… Just like that. Like a conjurer's trick, she had appeared out of nothingness – and he half expected her to vanish in the same inexplicable manner.

He seriously wondered if this was all just his concussion at work here. He must be hallucinating things. Which would account for all the talk about Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman, too. And for Elizabeth's presence, most of all. How many nights had he spent dreaming of her. Really. She had made an appearance in pretty much _every_ dream of his in the last, oh, how many years. Five? If that was enough.

He had had a small locket with her portrait – one of his more talented mariners had made it for him after their engagement – and he had carried it with him long after they had called off their engagement, had carried it next to his heart at all times, and looked at it in all the dark hours of chasing after Sparrow. He had lost it in his darkest hour then. That locket with its by now washed-out portrait must be lying on the bottom of the sea thirty nautical miles north of Tripolis. Or maybe one of the fishermen finding him had kept it, who knew… The original, however, had never gone out of his head. To see her in the flesh before him was too much to grasp. That she was real was made all the clearer by the fact how much she had changed. In his dreams, she had always looked like the Elizabeth he had known for so many years. An English lady, her hair groomed in the latest London fashion (well, 'latest' meaning what counted as such in the Caribbean, but probably was long out of fashion in London by then), dressed up in costly garments, her skin of a fine porcelain colour and her long, slender fingers tender and well manicured.

This Elizabeth here had only a faint resemblance with the girl he had dreamt of. She had taken to dress like a boy – which was a very sensible idea, he'd give her that. She wouldn't have come far in her usual attire. Any of those beasts would have ripped her to pieces, had they been aware that under that shapeless jacket and silly, boyish hat, an incomparably beautiful woman was hidden. One glance at her hands had sufficed to tell him that she had made her passage as a seaman; they were rough and covered in blisters, her nails short and fissured. She had a dark tan and her hair had bleached, making her eyes shine all the brighter, and while they were still warm, passionate really, there was a new expression in them that he had not seen on her before. A weariness, tinged with fierceness, and – yes, the passionate glint had turned into wild determination. One look into her eyes was enough to tell that this girl would be willing to row to the end of the world if that's what it'd take.

James had his share of glancing at Sparrow's compass, and while he still believed that it was useless, he could not deny that it did seem to give bearings. If that compass truly pointed to whatever a person wanted most, William Turner must be somewhere north-north-west of them. Or most of the time he must be, because that compass apparently changed its mind rather frequently. After fixing their course after leaving Tortuga, it changed direction two more times, or that's what the other sailors said.

James was called to the helm, after he had once more emptied his stomach into the sea.

"Seasick, former Commodore?" Sparrow cackled, and Mr Gibbs barely managed to wipe the grin off his face.

"You wanted to see me, _Captain_?" he retorted, giving the last word a sarcastic spin.

"Ah, indeed. You see… We've got confusing bearings –"

"Little wonder, seeing the compass you've got them from!"

"Pah. You're thinking far too mundane. But actually, that's just what we might need. I'm magnanimous enough to admit that you're the most able-bodied sailor – except for myself, of course – that I've ever come across. Mr Gibbs here _swears_ he's never served under a Captain knowing more about nautical computing."

"I do," Gibbs confirmed.

"I ought to feel flattered now, do I?"

"Feel flattered if you will, as long as you take a look at this chart. This –" Sparrow traced a line with his index finger. "This is the likeliest course. Be so good and establish the quickest, while safest route. Quick being a key term in your orders – but if we didn't have to cross open waters too often, I'd be very much obliged, too!"

"You're joking."

This was no question, but an honest statement. How had Sparrow ever managed to _survive_?! The man merely shook his head. "I am not. We ought to be damned fast, but we cannot take all the shortest routes."

James shrugged, bowed over the chart, and in less than ten minutes, they had their course – fast and safe. "This is the route I'd recommend, _Captain_. But really – why would you take my word for it? I'm a drunkard who managed to lose his ship in a storm. I wouldn't trust me, if I were in your place."

"Stop talking like that," Elizabeth said. She had entered the Captain's quarters without his notice and stepped beside him now. "You're the best sailor in the northern hemisphere."

"Hey!" Sparrow cried, scandalised.

"It's true! You get by on sheer, damned luck, Jack! _He_ always knows what he's doing!"

James couldn't but sneer at her. "I wish that was true, Miss Swann. Oh, how I wish it was! If _I _truly was the best sailor in the northern hemisphere, you might want to look in the southern!"

"Oh, come on, James –"

"Captain Sparrow, I believe I am done here. Be so good and dismiss me," he snarled and turned on his heels without waiting for an answer. Before he had closed the door behind him, he heard Sparrow's characteristic slur once more.

"I think you've lost your greatest admirer, luv!"

"Why don't you just swallow your tongue and choke on it, Jack?!"

* * *

Thanks to **love2rite** for the kind review!!! 


	5. Changes

**CHANGES**

This was actually the first time since her escape from prison where she could sit down and think what had happened to bring her here. So she was back on the Pearl. Alongside Jack, and Mr Gibbs, alarmingly enough also Pintel and Ragetti (who she had presumed to be dead, incidentally), but most disturbingly of all, James Norrington was there, too. She hadn't seen him for nearly two years – he had send a letter of resignation instead of coming to Port Royal himself – it was _her_ fault that he could never go back to the place that had so long been his home. A warrant for arrest for Commodore James Norrington! Preposterous! On the one hand, it had felt weird for her that he hadn't come back personally to hand in his resign, because he had been her friend since the Swanns had come to the Caribbean. On the other hand, she had meant it to be better like that, her pangs of remorse still tormenting her at times, and also feeling that seeing her and Will together would have done James no favour either.

She still couldn't really grasp what transformation he had gone through. The man sailing away from Port Royal aboard the Dauntless twenty-two months ago had been – well – everything really. Always impeccably groomed and shaved, gentle in his manners, unwaveringly righteous and disciplined. Commodore James Norrington had been an icon of respectability, good breeding and honour. And now? She had barely recognised him! His hair unkempt, that beard, those ragged clothes! And as for his whole demeanour! He had developed an affinity for booze, become cynical and self-deprecating, and his behaviour towards herself, which had always been so gracious, kind, benign, was nothing but cold and resentful.

Ironically, she was curiously fond of the beard and alternate hairdo. Blimey, had he looked a bit more like this during their acquaintance, she wouldn't have hesitated so much to accept his offer of marriage! The stiffness gone and with that The Devil May Care attitude, he could have been pretty _attractive_ even – if it hadn't been for that overall bitterness that poisoned everything he said, every look, each gesture. It couldn't have been more obvious how much he hated her, and Elizabeth could think of no reason why he shouldn't. The bottom line of it all was that she had only herself to blame. She had done this to him. She had caused this fine man's ruin.

It hurt her to see him like this, it really did. The dreadful notion that she was to blame for the state he was in – as a matter of fact, she couldn't _believe_ what she saw – this _so_ wasn't James Norrington! The man she had once been betrothed to had been ever so decent, and kind, and infallible really. She glanced over to him as he was scrubbing the deck now – she had a strong suspicion that Jack had only demanded the decks to be cleaned to assign the former Commodore to do it. She couldn't even blame him. After being scorned and belittled by James so often, Jack surely enjoyed to pay back in coin. He was only a man, after all. And so was James Norrington, she realised with some astonishment. Her short-time fiancé had always struck her like the statue of a saint – holy, and wooden. He had been too immaculate to be a real human being. The previous night however, she hadn't immediately recognised him; only when she had heard his voice, her jaw had dropped. The ragged uniform, the bristly beard and unkempt hair, when she had never seen him anything but impeccably groomed… In the previous night, he had made Jack look like a sober man! It was a shame, a real shame.

A cup of strong coffee in her hands, she now approached him and muttered, "There you go, James. Drink this, you're going to feel better."

He looked up in surprise, stilling his moves, but sneering next and continuing his work. "No, thank you."

"Don't be so stubborn, James! I know how awful you –"

"I said _thank you_, Miss Swann, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't address me by my first name either!"

She swallowed hard, startled by his hostility. He had never been anything but gracious to her, even on the day when she had acknowledged her love for Will and he had given her free, his manner had been kind and generous. "Excuse me, I didn't mean to offend you…"

He didn't answer but furiously went on scrubbing as if the planks had personally harmed him. She felt dreadful about this; she wanted to apologise, she wanted him to forgive her. Well, basically she wanted him to be his old self again. "I am serious, James – uh – sorry… But I _am_ serious, I – I see that you are cross with me and –"

"Cross with you!" He snorted, straightened up and hurled the cloth into the bucket beside him. "Why on earth would I be _cross_ with you, hm?"

"I… Uhm…" She cleared her throat and put on a more casual expression. "Well, you obviously _are_ cross with me, and I could think of a number of reasons that –"

"What would it take me to shut you up, Miss Swann?"

Surprisingly hurt, she replied contritely, "I _will_ shut up – but only after saying a couple of things." He rolled his eyes, but she went on regardless, "I am just too well aware that I behaved unpardonable to you, James – erm – _Commodore_ –"

"I'm a Commodore no more, Miss Swann!"

"So what do you want me to call you?"

"I _want_ you to stop addressing me completely, Miss Swann! Just bugger off!"

She bit down the lump in her throat and blinked away the burning moisture in her eyes. "I will. I promise, I will! I'll leave you alone in a minute, just… You must hear me out, J-… Mr Norrington."

He crossed his arms before his chest and arched his brows. "Go ahead, then! But please, be quick about it!"

"I want to apologise –"

"Apologies accepted, Miss Swann. Now good day to you."

"Please, James, I am sorry! I never meant – I never thought – _you_ said – then – you gave me free, didn't you, and you said that you wished me luck and –"

"I did, yes. Believe me, Miss Swann, _that_ is one of the few things I do _not_ regret! Good riddance!"

Why didn't he get up and just slap her? It'd be better than _this_! "You once were a gentleman!"

"_Oh_, yes. A gentleman, and stupid to boot! You know what? _Gentlemen_ are a dying breed, dear. Because they always come in last, because they let themselves be kicked around and smile still. Yes, I was a gentleman, and I meant every word I said to you, then. But the times have changed, and so have you and I. _I_ have become a rum-sodden deckhand on a pirate ship who can speak his mind as he pleases. And you –" He seized her up and down with a mocking grin. "_You_ decided to become a little boy, apparently. Suits you well though. And may spare a dozen men a dozen heartaches. Do you want me to call you Master Swann from now on?"

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you."

"There's a lot that might not suit me, but I'll do it nonetheless. See, that's the bright side of being a civilian. One can do whatever one wants. I have you to thank for that!"

A wave of anger engulfed her, and she hurled the coffee pot on the deck. The hot liquid poured over the planks he had just cleaned, and she hissed, "You missed a spot there, pirate! Your captain won't be content with such neglect of your duties!"

He laughed. Actually _laughed_. It was a throaty sound that sounded actually merry, and Elizabeth couldn't but goggle at him, unable to stir when he got to his feet, grabbing the bucket. "The deck _is_ in awful disorder, indeed! Let me try to wash off everything that doesn't belong here!"

And thus, he chucked the stinking cleaning broth out of the bucket right into her face and marched past her and off, still laughing out loud. Elizabeth puffed and blew, outraged, trying to wipe the ghastly liquid out of her eyes. Around her, she heard the other seamen cackling, and above all Jack's distinct slur.

"Well done, former Commodore! I stand by what I said then – I'm still rooting for you!" He was audibly cringing with laughter. "Which doesn't mean that you're excused from cleaning the decks, though!"

"Aye, aye, I'll do it, _Captain_, but later," James' voice came from somewhere below deck. "The detritus needs to clear off first!"

It took her two days to calm herself after this incident. Eventually, however, she found that he had every right to be mad at her, and that he had given her a number of fair warnings to leave him to his peace, before humbling her in front of a dozen pirates. She had humbled him worse in front of two hundred of his officers, hadn't she… Without any prior warning…

"You're harder to get rid of than the verdigris, Missy," he said when she approached him the next time. "I should ask you to marry me once more – nothing helps better to drive you away!"

She made a grimace, but pulled herself together, ignored his remark and asked, "Why do you want to get rid of me so desperately, James?"

He sniggered mirthlessly. "Because I cannot stand the sight of you, of course."

"You hate me so much, then?"

"If I say yes, will you finally clear off then?!"

"Look, James –"

"Are you deaf, or just forgetful, Miss Swann?! You and I are on first name terms no more!"

"Seeing that you don't want me to dub you James or Commodore, you might be better pleased if I stick to _honey pie Jimmy_?"

"Oh, why can't you just keep your mouth shut?!"

She glared at him, grabbing his lapels and forcing him to face her. "You know what, mister? I'm sick with this! There you are, trying to make me feel even more guilty for – for – well – _you know what_ – but in fact, you've got yourself ample of consolation! Don't give me this crap of being all heartbroken when you got over me so easily!"

He managed a worthy sneer, a visual equivalent of spitting at her feet. "Don't flatter yourself, Miss Swann! Really, true vanity gets along as long as there is a puddle to admire oneself in! Who do you think you are, eh? Yes, I can't deny that there was a time when I was in love with you, or rather say, an image of you that I had. The image of a smart, amiable girl! But _you_ aren't that girl. Your smartness is cunning, your amiability is mere deceit to get what you want! I believe you've met Dolores and Nicoletta –"

"Oh yes, I have! Classy, I got to give you that!"

"You know what? Those women have more warmth and honesty than _you_ could ever muster! You're displeased with me? Do I make you feel guilty? Well, I guess you'll just have to deal with it, as I have to deal with the fact that I have lead two hundred sixty innocent souls to their doom! And what about those soldiers killed on the Isla de Muerta, sweetheart? You were willing to have them all sacrificed, only so you could get your will – oh, pardon the pun!"

She looked as if he had slapped her, crying, "That's not true! I did want to warn you, but _you_ had me locked up instead!"

"Aha! You mean in that night when we were to battle four dozen pirates, and I meant to keep you safe? What about the ten days before even getting there? What kept you from mentioning en passant that those bloody pirates you wanted me to kill for you were actually immortal?!"

"You wouldn't have followed them," she muttered contritely, not daring to look him in the face.

"No, indeed, I would not have. And that is just the point I was making – you'd sell anything and anybody only to achieve your own ends! And, apart from this – oh, let's just call it omission of truthfulness, shall we? Had you asked me to do you that favour, to go and rescue young Mr Turner, you _know_ I would have considered it with an open mind. I've always done anything for you. But you had to make _sure_, right, you had to pretend that you'd actually marry me to –"

"I would have married you!"

"You know what, _honey_? You'll think me a hopeless romantic, dear – but I truly thought I'd deserved to be married to a woman actually _loving_ me!"

She bit her lip, only to spit, "Oh, I've seen that you've found yourself a sound dozen of _that_ kind!"

He took a deep breath. "Yes, haven't I? You know, I was proverbially _flooded_ with marriage proposals. But you know the difference between you and me? I didn't accept any, only to get by!"

"Is that the rest of your old sailor's honour speaking now? You can make out with a hooker, but you could never marry one?!"

He gave a dry laugh. What seemed like ages ago, he would have minded the mere _implication_, but now he could hardly care less. No, he hadn't 'made out' with any of his good Samaritans, not once, for a variety of reasons. Speaking of sailor's honour – indeed, his last tiny scrap of self-respect had forbidden him to get involved with a common prostitute. Then, he hadn't been able to imagine that he could sleep with another woman while dreaming of Elizabeth instead. Also, some bizarre sense for health and personal hygiene had prompted him to stay clear of anything like Syphilis or what else one caught there. And most of all, he had felt far too much grieved, thinking of his dead crew, to contemplate anything as self-indulgent as sexual intercourse.

Elizabeth however was the last person on earth that he was going to discuss this with. Instead he snarled, "Dear, I wouldn't talk as big as you do. They sleep with men for money because there's little else they can do to maintain themselves. What is _your_ excuse for flirting with every man who comes your way?"

Predictably, he got himself a sound slap for this remark. "And I had once thought you were a gentleman!"

"Oh, not that again! I once _was_ a gentleman, my dear. We've got a long journey ahead of us, perhaps you want to use the time to see if you can figure out why I'm no more."

And thus, he walked off with a distinct feeling of triumph. None of his military triumphs had ever tasted so sweet! She was determined though to pester him whenever she could – that was, as long as she didn't try to lure in Sparrow. One had to admire the technique. Elizabeth was no girl to take risks, was she?! No, _she_ made sure Sparrow didn't forget what she had come for. On the other hand… The longer James witnessed the banter between those two, the more he wondered if his assessment of the situation was correct. Sparrow was keen on Elizabeth, obviously – well, of course he was. How many girls of Elizabeth's beauty and format did the average sailor come across, really! But the intriguing bit was – Elizabeth did not seem adverse to the idea of dallying around with Sparrow either. Which was no credit to her judgement.

No, watching their exchanges, one couldn't help it but think that Elizabeth didn't simply try to manipulate Sparrow like she had done with him. There was a sparkle in her gaze when talking to the _Captain_ – and while James didn't consider himself an expert in body language, he found Elizabeth's nonetheless too obvious to mistake. She wasn't simply fond of Sparrow, and overly trusting. There was more between them than that.

Elizabeth had somehow managed to get her hands on some Letters of Marque. She had tried to show them to James and ask his opinion of their value, but ever refusing to listen to her if he got the chance, he had just walked out on her. One glance had sufficed anyhow, to prove him they were real and _very_ valuable. But he didn't want a charter with a full pardon – _he_ wanted it put down that the charges against him were false to begin with. Still, it'd be the ideal way to save Elizabeth and her fiancé's lives – but there'd be ample of time yet to let her know. Just now, he couldn't deal with her.

The following afternoon however, he realised his mistake. Not telling Elizabeth what she wanted to know naturally made the girl turn to the next best source – coming on deck, he spotted her showing her treasure to Sparrow and Mr Gibbs and. He was stumped by her naiveté – and predictably, Sparrow took the letters with no visible intention to give them back.

"If the Company controls the chest, they controls the sea," Mr Gibbs, ever so poised for the dramatic effect, said with sombre emphasis. James looked over, partly amused, partly intrigued. Could it be possible that Cutler Beckett actually bought into this nonsense as well?! What was the wicked dwarf playing at? Had his ambition and hunger for recognition eaten up his last scraps of sense, after all?

"A truly discomforting notion, luv," Sparrow agreed and knitted his brows.

"And bad, bad for every mother's son what calls himself pirate! I think there's a bit more speed to be coaxed from these sails! Brace the foreyard!"

Gibbs headed for the helm, and Sparrow inspected the letters some closer. "Might I inquire how you came by these?"

"Persuasion," she answered with an ambiguous expression.

"Friendly?"

"Decidedly not!"

James didn't bother to suppress a grin. He was almost proud of his former fiancée – the girl had a quality threshold; not even in a moment of deepest despair, she had lowered herself to flirt with Phineas Cutler Beckett. Must have been quite a blow for the rotten midget.

Sparrow arched a brow. "Will strikes a deal for these and upholds it with honour, yet you are the one standing here with the prize. Full pardon, commission as a privateer on behalf of England and the East India Trading Company… As if I could be bought for such a low price."

He pocketed the letters, making even Elizabeth suspicious. "Jack," she murmured and reached out. "The letters… Give them back!"

"No. _Persuade_ me," Sparrow cried suggestively, and James' heart missed a beat. She wouldn't – he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but opened them again when hearing her answer.

"You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword…?"

"As I said – _persuade me_!" Sparrow looked all complacent and expectant, but the smug smile dripped off his face when he realised that Elizabeth walked out on him. She came up to the upper deck, oblivious of James', or anyone's presence, apparently, and fumbled with the wretched compass instead while gazing at the sea.

He couldn't have helped it, he just _had_ to make fun of her and her infatuation, or he'd burst, so James strolled over with a smirk. "It's a curious thing," he drawled dryly. "There _was_ a time when I would have given anything for you to look like that while thinking about me."

Her cheeks flushed. "I don't know what you mean!"

"Oh, I think you do."

He gave her a meaningful look, making her blush even worse, and cry vehemently, "Don't be absurd! I trust him! That's all!"

This was even more hilarious than he had figured. Poor Mr Turner! Did the girl actually believe a single word herself of all the nonsense she was talking?! Trying hard to suppress his laughter, he shrugged and left her to her musings, but turned around once more and said mockingly, "So you never wondered how your latest fiancé ended up on the Flying Dutchman in the first place?"

She opened her mouth for a reply, but didn't come up with any and merely shot some dagger looks after him as he left for the lower deck, where Jack and Mr Gibbs were discussing something, too. She had no idea how he did it, but he single-handedly managed to annoy the hell out of her these days, with just a few, select words. For eight years, they had been _friends_, damn it! It wasn't _her_ fault if he had hoped for more, and got disappointed! A tiny voice in her head objected, 'That's not true, and you know it!'

To distract herself, she took out the compass and snapped it open. She groaned. Once again, the stupid thing didn't point into the direction it should. Instead… The silly thing pointed – towards the lower deck – where Jack was. Oh, this wasn't to be born with! It was _not true_! And she wouldn't allow James to talk her into this! Only because he was still angry that she had chosen Will over him, he tried to persuade her of preferring Jack to Will now! The tiny voice objected once more, in the same words. 'That's not true and you know it!'

She shook herself and followed him; they just _had_ to clarify this, once and for all!

"James! JAMES!" she exclaimed, but he wouldn't stop, or turn around, and she tried anew, "Sailor Norrington!"

At least, he cast a look over his shoulder. "If I tied you to the mast, would _that_ stop you from trailing me?!"

"You wouldn't!"

"Don't try me."

"I want to talk to you, James! We're on a ship! You cannot run away from me forever!"

"I don't know about _forever_, dearest, but I think so far I'm not doing half bad."

She caught up with him in the second storeroom, pulled on his arm and forced him to face her at last. "You and I," she said in her most threatening voice, "will talk. _Now_. And God knows, you _will_ listen to me, damn it!"

"What an enticing invitation."

"Stop it! You think that I have wronged you, and I have, but let us clarify a few things between us! I am deeply, you don't know how deeply, sorry that you lost the Dauntless. I _am_! I was devastated when we heard of her loss, and if I hadn't been in mourning for the next four months, I would be married now!"

He giggled and twisted his face in the most ironic fashion. "Oh, I'm _sorry_! I ruined your wedding? Ts! – Let's just say we're square, then. You ruined mine, I ruined yours. We're even."

"Rubbish! What I'm trying to tell you is that I couldn't stop sobbing my eyes out for a whole _week_, because I believed my oldest friend was dead, you idiot! – Meaning _you_, since you take so much delight in misunderstanding me if you can! You cannot imagine my elation when we eventually heard that you had survived. I care for you, James – oh, sorry – _sailor_! I care for you, if you want it or not, and I understand that you want to pay me back for my unpardonable behaviour back then – but there's one thing I want you to know, too – and bloody _remember_ from now on! I would have married you, blast it! I didn't just pretend, only to get what I wanted! Yes, indeed, I hoped you would agree to save Will, and yes, I was in love with him already. But that had nothing to do with the fact that I would have married you, and not only to fulfil my part of the bargain. Can you get that into your stubborn skull?!"

He stared at her, clearly perfectly puzzled. "Pardon…?"

"We were friends, weren't we?"

"Yes…?"

"See, that's what I thought, too! That day – you know – when you first asked me… I found it weird that you would, because I didn't understand – nor do I understand it better now – why on earth you would want _me_ of all persons. In fact, if I had had a chance to give you an answer that day, I would have told you that I'd need some time to think about it, _because_ I wasn't as adverse to the idea as you seem to believe! I do think that passion and romance should be the foundation for marriage – but then I also thought that marrying one's best friend might be just as well. And I would have stood by my word!"

He was petrified; he didn't even blink. He merely gaped at her for a full minute before whispering, "And why are you telling me this? Now?"

"I never got the chance to say it, did I? I am _sorry_! About everything! I'm sorry that I didn't love you the way you deserve, I am sorry that things have come this way! I am sorry that you lost the Dauntless, and it breaks my heart to see you constantly tormenting yourself because of it. I'm sorry that this slimy piece of filth put a price on your head, I'm sorry you quit service, I'm sorry you never came back to Port Royal. All these things, I _am_ goddamned sorry for! I wish there was anything I could do, but I can't, apparently, and still – I want to be your friend again, James, like we used to be!"

"I… I don't think it works this way, Elizabeth…" He faintly shook his head, evading her gaze.

"But why? Isn't there a tiny remnant of our old friendship? Anything to make you hate me a little less? Enough to get by?"

He didn't reply at once, but turned away. His voice was considerably softer when he spoke at last, making her pluck up courage – but it didn't last long. "I don't _hate_ you, Elizabeth. I'm just disinclined to deal with you in any small way."

"That's just the same, isn't it!"

"No, it isn't."

"I never meant to hurt you, James!"

"I know."

"But you'll never forgive me, right?"

He turned back to look at her, with a wry smile. "_Forgive_ you? That's what you want? I've forgiven you, Miss Swann. As a matter of fact, there never _was_ anything to forgive. I couldn't seriously resent you for not wanting to marry me, could I?"

There they were again, the stinging tears in the corner of her eyes. "Didn't you listen? I would have married you. I want you to know that. I _would_ have married you."

He gazed at her with an indecipherable expression, then rummaged through his pockets and finding an ominous piece of cloth. He handed it to her and tried to smile. "But that's not the point, dear…"

"What _is_ the point?"

He contemplated her, but didn't speak, and the more he looked at her, the more she had to blink to keep herself from crying. "It's not worth these tears, Elizabeth. It isn't. _I_ am sorry for making you so miserable," he said after all, in an almost tender manner. "You've got more pressing worries, trust me. For one – do you seriously believe that Jack Sparrow will bring you back to your fiancé, once he's got what he wants?"

"Of course he will!"

"I'd be not so sure of that, if I were you. Ask yourself – why _should_ he?"

"Jack's not so bad as you always take him for!"

He gave a gentle snort, but it didn't sound as bitter this time. "The first time you met him, he threatened to kill you. Blimey, your time together on that deserted island must have been truly mind-blowing."

It took her a moment to grasp his meaning, and when she had, he was already gone. She was outraged. Did he seriously impute on her that she…? With Jack?! On that nameless island?! Hadn't kept him from wanting to marry her, though, had it?! Oh! 'Wait till I find you, James Norrington, you just wait!' – She searched the entire ship to give him her mind about this impertinence, but deplorably, she couldn't find him. Where could he have gone to?! The Black Pearl wasn't that big to begin with! Where was he hiding from her? And once she'd have found him – oh boy!

Instead, she found Jack, drunk as ever, who offered her a swig of rum from his bottle. "To the good old times, luv," he drawled and suppressed a hiccup. This gave her an idea, and she stabbed her finger at him.

"What are you telling people when they ask you what happened on that island, Jack?!"

"What happened on that island? – I hardly know what happened there, myself, do I?" She scowled at him, and he shrugged. "Somehow, we did it –"

"No, we _didn't_! How dare you –"

"Well, Hector Barbossa _is_ dead, and so is most of his crew if I'm not mistaken. Dead or in the gaol."

It took her a moment to figure out that they weren't talking about the same island, or night, and she specified her question. "When we were marooned, Jack!"

Realisation dawned on his features and he shot her a stern look. "Oh, _that_ island! When you've destroyed all the rum, you mean!"

"That is _exactly_ what I mean!"

"My memory is rather clouded, Missy! Thick fogs of burning liquor cloud my inner eye!"

She made a dismissive gesture. "But you wouldn't have _accidentally_ let slip some story about you having been luckier than you actually were, would you!"

"I hardly know if I was any lucky! I do know however that in the aftermath, I spent almost two weeks in the hull of the Dauntless, with your then fiancé lording over me like the King himself!"

"And to pay him back for that, you told him some cock and bull story about you and me – on that island – _you know_?!"

He goggled at her, clearly clueless. "I know what, luv?"

"Let me put it this way, Jack," she snarled in a deadly tone. "How come James thinks you and I had – hm – become closer acquainted than would have been proper?!"

"Maybe because you were wearing but your undergarments…?"

She could feel how badly she was blushing, stomped her foot and rushed off. Men! Tah! Lucky that Will wasn't like that! Ph! And James?! What had he been thinking?! If he had truly thought that she – _you know_ – how could he have wanted to marry her still, then?!

And why did that compass keep on changing?! That island couldn't change its location, right? Maybe _Will_ kept on changing _his_ location, and the needle pointed at him? That'd make sense, yes! – Then again… No. It didn't. Will would have to be in the Spanish Main, Kingston, Nassau Port and New Providence in at the same time if that was true, the way the needle kept on whirling around. What if it _did_ point at Jack though…?

She cursed herself. Why wasn't she married? She ought to be married! Three times they had fixed a date! Three ruddy times! One time with James, two times with Will – and where was that ring on her hand that should really have been there already by now? She was positive – if she only had that ring on her finger, that compass would _not_ change its mind whenever she looked at it!

In this rather depressed state of mind, Jack found here and settled next to her on the stairs. "My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled."

"I just thought I'd be married by now. I'm so _ready_ to be married," she gnarled, not looking over.

He passed her the rum. "You know, Lizzie, I am captain of a ship. And being captain of a ship, I could, in fact, perform a marriàge. Right here, right on this deck - right _now_."

Oh _please_! Did he really have to try proving James was right after all?! "No, _thank_ _you!_"

She passed the bottle back, but Jack pressed on, "Why not? We are very much alike, you and I, I and you. Us."

"Oh, except for a sense of honour, and decency, and a moral centre!" With a rather disgusted side-look, she added, "And personal hygiene!"

He sniffed his armpit. "Trifles! You will come over to my side, I know it."

"You seem very certain." She sneered, realising that he was less certain than drunk.

"One word, love – curiosity. You long for freedom. You long to do what you want to do because you want it. To act on selfish impulse. You want to see what it's like. One day, you won't be able to resist."

She hated to acknowledge it, but there were a few things in this statement that were true, even if it was Jack who had said them. Freedom. She would have snorted, if it hadn't been so sad. _Freedom_. Oh, how she had dreamt to be free! Back then, in her old life, which seemed so distant to her now, unreal even – she had longed to be free. Had fantasised about pirates, because _they_ had appeared like the epitome of freedom to her. And now she was one of them, and it didn't taste like _freedom_ either. Wanted, a price on her head, nowhere to go, her fiancé incarcerated God knew where – no, this certainly didn't feel like freedom.

Only to say something, she muttered, "Why doesn't your compass work?"

"My compass works fine," he retorted, sounding mortified.

She glanced at him, and an idea formed in her head. James thought she was calculating? Well, maybe she was! She smirked. "Because you and I are alike. And there will come a moment when you have the chance to show it. To do the right thing."

"I love those moments. I like to wave at them as they pass by!"

"You'll have the chance to do something...something courageous. And when you do, you'll discover something. That you're a good man."

"All evidence to the contrary!"

He grinned, and she returned that grin likewise. "Oh, I have faith in you. Want to know why?"

"Do tell, dearie!"

"Curiosity," she purred, using on her most tempting tones. Calculating? She hadn't even _started_! No, she hadn't wanted to hurt James – but she saw no reason not to exploit Jack's more base instincts. She would get him to do as he ought! "You're going to _want_ it. A chance to be admired, and gain the rewards that follow. You're not going to be able to resist. You're going to want to know what it tastes like."

She came very close, almost whispering into his ear. And it seemed to work. Jack already looked like a demented ape. "I do want to know what it tastes like…"

"But seeing as you're a good man, I know you would never put me in a position that would compromise my honour." He pulled away, quicker than she had expected. Had her charms failed him? Slightly disappointed, she murmured, "I'm proud of you, Jack."

In that moment, Mr Gibbs announced that they had arrived at their destination – _if_ the whole compass ordeal wasn't humbug to begin with, she thought privately. Jack ordered to have a boat launched, and Pintel and Ragetti to find some shovels, and Elizabeth got another idea. "We can need all the help we can get, right? Back in a moment –"

* * *

Thank you, **love2rite **and **TelcontarRulz**!!!!! And everyone else who reviewed! 


	6. Setting It Right

**SETTING IT RIGHT**

Luckily, Mr Gibbs knew where James hid himself when he wanted to sleep. He preferred to sleep in one of the storerooms instead of the sailors' quarters – she couldn't blame him. He didn't belong there – he didn't belong onto this entire _ship _in the first place! She found him sound asleep on top of a couple of wooden boxes, hidden from sight by other piles of boxes and barrels. Not a comfortable bedding, but he seemed pleased enough with it – or not, she thought on a second look. His face was twisted in the most pained manner, as if he were having a bad nightmare. She could imagine what that dream was about – the hurricane, the sinking Dauntless… He winced back in his sleep and gave little gasps and moans, and she gently shook his shoulders.

"Wake up, James," she said and stroke back a strand of hair from his temple. "It's just a bad dream!"

It took her some more ministrations to wake him up, and now he was _really_ startled. "What –"

"You were having a nightmare, and I… I thought you'd better wake up…"

He nodded vaguely and rubbed his eyes. "What were you doing here in the first place?"

"I was looking for you, you know…"

"No, I surely _don't_ know."

"I've got to talk to you about a couple of things –"

He yawned. "Again?"

"Yes, and now. Well – that thing you said… About Jack and me, on that darned island." He arched his brows in ridicule and tilted his head, and with a fierce glance, she went on, "Don't give me that look, James! There was _nothing_ between Jack and me on that island!"

He sniggered. "Did it occur to you that _I'm_ not the right addressee for your explanations?"

"Explanations! I merely want to set right a misunderstanding!"

"And for that you wake me up?"

"You're enjoying yourself, are you?! Humbling me and taunting me whenever you can?!"

He waved his hands dismissively and laid back on his provisory bed. "You mistake me, dearest. All I want is going back to sleep. No matter what nightmare I might have had – it can impossibly be more absurd than this conversation."

He shut his eyes again, and she looked down on him, taking in his familiar, yet so curiously altered features. His skin was sun-burnt, there were fine lines around his eyes and on his forehead that she had never noticed before, and which seemed to have less to do with his thirty-three years than with the last two. Another pang of guilt, and she groaned, making him open his eyes once more. They were green. She had never noticed their greenness with such clarity – his tan made them stand out so much clearer, even here in the dim shadow of the storeroom.

"Anything else?" he asked, a tad bewildered.

"You believe me, yes?"

"I believe you're stark mad," he muttered and closed his eyes again.

"No, I mean, seriously!"

"Yes, I'm serious, too! You _are_ doubtlessly mad as a hatter. Too much sun, I'd wager."

"I want to know if you believe me there was nothing between Jack and me on that island," she persisted, gnawing on her bottom lip and closely watching him. Once more he opened his eyes, sighing and looking at her as if he thought she was crazy indeed. "You believe me, right? You wouldn't… You wouldn't have – have still agreed to marry me if you had truly…"

"Oh, for the love of Christ, Elizabeth! I would have married you and if I had thought you had been amusing yourself with the entire crew of the Black Pearl. You might not have noticed it – but I was quite a fool for you." He saw her injured expression and added with another sigh, "I believe you that there was nothing on that island, all right? I believed it then, and I believe you now. Call me a silly fool if you will. But if you want to know what else I believe…"

"Yes?" she asked, disquieted.

"I believe you might want to be careful not to cancel your next wedding, too. Perhaps you sit down and think a few things through before fixing the next date."

"What do you mean by _that_?"

"Oh, I think you know perfectly well what I mean by that."

"No, I don't," she gnarled stubbornly, even though she did know what he was playing at, after their last quarrel about the same subject. For a moment, she was reminded of their mutual past. James, being an old friend of the family, berating her because of something – gently, politely, but wanting to put her on her guard still. And little Elizabeth stubbornly sulking and refusing to listen. She shook herself and nudged him. "I'm a big girl now, you see? I can look after myself."

"Hmm. Sure," he murmured sleepily.

"I really need to talk to you. Can I talk to you? In all candour?"

He opened one eye and grimaced. "How much candour exactly? Is it something I should better get up for, so you can properly knock me out again?"

"It's nothing to do with Jack, if that's what you mean… But it'd be – it'd be nice if you could get up still."

He gave a comical whimper and propped himself up on his elbows. "I've been on shift for twelve hours, Elizabeth. Can't you wait until the evening?"

She shook her head. "We're there. At the island. That Jack was looking for… Please, James… You ought to jump ship there!"

"You want to maroon me on a deserted island?"

"It doesn't look all _that_ deserted if you ask me. And anyway – it might be better for the time being than staying here, don't you think?"

He seemed to think about her suggestion for a minute. "And then?"

"Look…" She gestured around. "This isn't like you. You ought to get back!"

"Back? To what?"

"You're just no pirate, and you don't need me to tell you that! You think you must punish yourself, but that's really enough now! Jack's in trouble, so am I, and as far as I can see it's not going to get better anytime soon. If you don't flee in time, they'll catch you on a pirate ship and –"

"It might have slipped your notice, but there's a warrant for arrest with my name on it. I'll go to the noose when I go back, that's all. I may not be a pirate, but I'll be hanged like one!"

"We can manage. We've come so far! Jack will give me the compass now that he has what he wants, I'm sure, so I can find Will and then we'll all go back and strike a bargain with Beckett."

"You don't know Cutler Beckett, Elizabeth, and I'm sorry to repeat myself, but you don't know Sparrow either. If it's true that this darn thing points to whatever you want most, he will never give it to you. It's invaluable!"

"He's a good man!"

"Your infatuation with him blurs your perception, dear."

"I'm not _infatuated_ with him!"

"Why don't you open your compass and make sure, eh?" He laughed and blinked at her.

She scowled at him. "Very funny."

"Dear, I've known you since you were that small." He grinned and indicated her height back then. "I will always feel responsible for you."

"I can look after myself now, James!"

"Yes, I can see that. You think you can negotiate with a bunch of pirates and get accidentally kidnapped – you are freed, only to be captured by the same guys again and eventually walk the plank to be marooned on a deserted island. You try to help a man you hardly know and who pressed a blade against your throat at your first encounter and get imprisoned for it on your wedding day, ending up on the ship of the most wanted criminal in the entire Caribbean. Frankly, Elizabeth, it isn't easy _not_ to feel protective of you."

She bit down the urge to retort that he had made some catastrophic decisions lately, too. On the other hand, she was far too grateful that they were for once talking without him sniping at her, so she merely murmured, "You're on this ship, too."

"I got nowhere else to go."

"That is just the point I'm trying to make. You don't belong here. We need to get you back there. You're a military man, an honest sailor. This isn't for you."

He sniggered dryly. "I thought you like pirates so much?"

"I liked _you_ much more then. Well, except the wig. And that you were always so stiff."

"You didn't like my wig? Now _that_ hurts!"

"Listen, James. When this is over we'll all go back to Port Royal. My father will help us and –"

"Get real, Elizabeth! Your father! If he's unlucky, he's in prison already!"

"In prison?" She gaped at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"You and your Mr Turner were arrested for helping a pirate – _I_ ought to be arrested for not pursuing him quickly enough! Your father has sprung _you_ from prison, and according to you, he was caught by that Mercer character. What do you think the charge will be, eh?"

Her legs became weak; she staggered back and sat down on a box. Her father! Oh god! She had not even thought of this! She wanted to smack herself for being so short-sighted. Yes, naturally, she had thought of her father – but merely that he was likely to be worried for her sake, and that somehow, she ought to manage dispatching a message to tell him she was fine… Imprisoned? In the hands of these two total creeps?!

"They… They cannot do that," she moaned feebly. "He's – he's the Governor, he's –"

In a soothing voice that she hadn't heard him use a single time since meeting him again, he said, "They _can_. Cutler Beckett has gained much influence. But don't be too scared – your father is too valuable for him. Having Governor Swann at his mercy – don't look like this, Elizabeth. I merely meant that your father must know he's in no position to refuse, and old Phineas will take advantage of this –"

"That's awful!"

"No, as a matter of fact, it might just save your father's skin. Beckett is a repulsive little git, but if there's one thing he's not – he isn't stupid. He recognises a chance walking through his door like that. Having your father in the palm of his hand _is_ such a chance."

She hadn't noticed that she had started to cry, but apparently he had. He came over and offered her the cleanest piece of cloth he could find. She struggled to breathe in horror. "But… But… What if my father doesn't – what if he defies Beckett, and –"

"Shhh. He won't. He'll play along," he whispered, awkwardly patting her shoulder. "As long as you're somewhere out here and he doesn't know for certain that you're safe, he won't do anything that could worsen your situation. Because as long as he's Governor Swann of Port Royal and not just some prisoner, he still has power, he still has influence. He'd do anything to be of help for you when you need it."

Sitting on her box like an obstinate child, she reached out and pulled on his arm to come closer. She hurled her arms around her old friend's waist and cried into his shabby coat. He held still, patting her back now and making soothing noises.

"Don't worry too much about this, Elizabeth… It'll be all right, I'm sure!"

"But – but – this is all my fault! If he hadn't tried to help me… If he – and Will, and – and you! You're all hunted only because you meant to help me, and –"

"But this is nonsense, Elizabeth! _I_ should have pursued Sparrow straight away –"

"Which you didn't do because I didn't want him to be hanged!" she sobbed.

"No… _No_. Take my word on it – _that_ wasn't my reason."

"You can be honest, you know? Lieutenant Gillette talked to my father that night – he told him that for the first time since knowing you, he had seen you locking yourself up getting drunk! And that _was_ my fault!"

He stroked her back. "I could easily have done the same aboard the Dauntless, setting after Sparrow. You surely remember Captain Craddock?"

He had tried to give his voice a jocose sound, making her give a muffled laugh, that turned into another sob at once. "But still! We're lost! We're all lost! We'll all go to prison! Or straight to the noose, we'll –"

"Nonsense, Elizabeth, nonsense. You must calm yourself, you hear me? Why do you think did Beckett arrange your and Mr Turner's arrests, hm? Because he has heard of Sparrow's compass, and he knew that you two were somewhat acquainted with him. He calculated that he could send your fiancé on this errant to get the compass for him, while keeping you imprisoned as leverage. He's a man of business. As soon as he's got what he wants, he'll lose all interest in the both of you. But your father will still be there, a valuable connection still – and Beckett knows that your father would no longer oblige him if he sent you to the gallows. I mean it – I am staunchly convinced you're safe. Beckett gets the bloody compass –"

She couldn't have been more grateful for his consolation, still she couldn't calm down. "But he won't get the blasted thing! You've said so yourself! Jack will never give it up, and –"

"Please, Elizabeth, stop crying. Please." He gave a soft, warm chuckle. "I'll steal it personally from Sparrow if I've got to. My word on it. If he doesn't want to help you, I will. You, and your father, and Mr Turner, will all go free."

"And you?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Me?" He laughed. "Dear, do you think Beckett would dare harming me if I hinted that I've got that silly compass he wants so much? I'm a good sailor and he knows it. If I should make a guess – he'll offer me a job."

"You – you would do that?"

"Steal Sparrow's shirt off his back? With _pleasure_!"

"No… You would agree to work for Cutler Beckett?"

He didn't answer immediately, but when he spoke, she could hear the forced humour in his voice. "Why not? Commandeering a freight ship – I'd think you'd like me stopping to hunt down pirates, wouldn't you?"

"He's scum! He's worse than scum! That filthy little midget, that –"

"What's worse, Elizabeth? Working for the hangman, or being hanged by him?"

"You don't mean that!" She loosened her embrace and squinted up to him. He looked thoughtful and resigned. "You never –"

In this moment, Pintel rushed in, pointing at Elizabeth.

"Hello, poppet! The Captain wants you to join him! And so do I –"

He leered at her in the usual way, and she quickly jumped to the floor and grabbed James' arm. "Come with me, James," she murmured. She'd talk him off this ship, she would! Kingstown wasn't far, and comparatively safe, and he could hide here on this island for a while, until… Well, until they'd have a better plan. And maybe Jack _would_ give her the compass, and then, she and James and Will _could_ go back to Port Royal, _together_ and set things right again, and –

"What are you –"

"You'll accompany us."

"Treasure hunting with Sparrow?"

"Making things right again!"

"It'll be all right, somehow, Elizabeth" James repeated quietly enough for Pintel to miss it. He didn't believe it himself, but he could think of nothing else to comfort her either. Now they'd finally see whether Jack Sparrow was as daft as everybody thought. Now they'd find out about that mysterious chest. Somehow, James half expected that they'd find just another rum depot – even Davy Jones, should he exist, must have a place for his more worldly goods, right?

In the small boat, she tried to make eye contact with him, but he avoided to look over to her. For a minute, she wondered if he was _still_ angry with her – he had every right to be, naturally… Just that after their encounter in the storeroom, she had thought that he… It had been good again, hadn't it? It had been like in the old times – better even, in a way. He had been James again, James, dear, sweet James, ever so solicitous of her and her father's well-fare, not the bitter cynic he had wanted to appear like. In the storeroom, he had been her oldest friend once more, hadn't he?

"James?" she whispered, not wanting Pintel or Ragetti opposite of them to overhear her.

"Not now," he whispered back.

"James, I've got another question yet!" He groaned disapprovingly, but she went on regardless. If their ways parted on this island indeed, she had to know this _now_. "Did you mean the other thing you said?" Now he did look over, and expressively mimicked at her to be quiet. He probably thought she was talking about the compass, so she faintly shook her head. "I mean – the thing you said yesterday… About me being – being – well, you know!"

"Later!"

"But I –"

"_Later_, Elizabeth!"

She shook her head and bent over to whisper in his ear, "Do you really think I was cold and calculating?"

He swivelled around and he stared at her for a moment. With a strange look, he murmured, "You're fine the way you are, dear."

This wasn't what she had wanted to hear, but it sufficed. At least he gave her a smile – one of the old sort, warm and fond and kind, and she relaxed. This was almost as good as an answer, wasn't it? He couldn't think so terribly ill of her when he would smile at her like this!

* * *

Thank you, **love2rite**!!!!! 


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